


Blakes on a Bane

by Bambichi



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Captivity, Cop!John, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Not actually crack, Prisoner!Bane, Violence, ignore the title sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bambichi/pseuds/Bambichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Blake is a cop for the galactic Colonies based on Gotham Planet.  He's assigned the mission of acting as security on board a prison transport ship, relocating inmates from the notorious 'Pit' to a new prison complex known as the Fortress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blorkingelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blorkingelle/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has now also been translated into [Chinese](http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-132638-1-1.html) by [Vallennox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vallennox/pseuds/vallennox), which is very exciting ^_^ Thank you!

"It's going to be a long shift," Cameron shuffles his feet awkwardly as he shrugs at John.  John sighs, he knows Cameron is expecting him to change his mind about filling in for him on this run.

"Your wife's nearly due Cam," John replies, "you don't want to be stuck on a prison transport ship in one of the far galactic zones when  your son or daughter comes into this universe." 

Cameron's smile is wide and sheepish, "Yeah...guess not, thanks John, I really appreciate it.  As soon as you're back from The Fortress I'll take up all your runs for a month!"

"That's really not necessary," John chuckles, shaking his head, "This is a ten day run, I'm looking forward to the pay check at the end of it." 

Cameron snorts and reaches forward to clap John's shoulder, "Thanks man, rub it in! A baby's not cheap you know! But still..." he pauses, reaching up to scratch at his mop of fair hair, "I'm kinda glad that I get to sit this one out." 

John raises an eyebrow at him but he understands what Cameron's saying.  As part of the inter-galactic police force they're expected to assist on high security transfers of prisoners across the different space zones.  The run that John will be working on tomorrow is a ten day journey transporting inmates from the soon-to-be demolished prison known as 'The Pit' to a different prison complex known as 'The Fortress'.  The Pit is notorious amongst the galactic Colonies, it's where the government send the really nasty offenders.  Before unification it was also used by corrupt gang leaders as a place to get rid of their enemies.  They say no one ever leaves The Pit, but John guesses that's all going to change tomorrow, as the stretch of desert on planet Sidak where The Pit is currently located is due to be sold for development. 

That's the trouble with such a burgeoning population of the Colonies, they don't really have enough terraformed planets to put everyone.  At least there's somewhere for the prisoners to go, The Fortress is a brand new complex that's currently only housing a quarter of its maximum capacity. 

"They say the prisoners in the pit have turned into animals,"

"What?" John is disturbed from his thoughts and he looks back up at Cameron who nods with widened eyes.

"They say they've become beasts, one with the darkness they live in."

"They're just men," John replies, "Just men who've been in the dark for a long time."

"The dark does things to people," Cameron presses on, "I'm only trying to tell you to be careful John, I'd feel responsible if anything..."

"Nothing's going to happen," John answers quickly, nipping that worrying train of thought in the bud, "We've got a whole rank of armed prison guards and twenty-three cops.  The prison ship's maximum security and all the inmates will be placed in restraints.  You know the drill Cam, stop worrying about me and worry more about stockpiling enough diapers."

Cameron laughs but he still sounds nervous, "Men shouldn't live in the dark."  He replies.

John shrugs, there have been humanitarian protests demanding the closure of The Pit for years.  He wonders if all the human rights activists would feel the same way if they had access to the inmates' criminal records? If they could actually see for themselves the atrocities these men have committed? Regardless, everyone's getting what they want now anyway, and there's plenty of light in the Fortress.  It's a renovated space station turned prison.  It will probably be a pleasant change of scenery for the current inhabitants of The Pit.

"I owe you one John."  Cameron nods, squeezing John's shoulder before turning to go inform Commissioner Gordon of the alteration in the roster. 

John swallows heavily, his fingers skirt over the holster of his gun before he turns to make his way to the police bunk room.  He's going to want a full night's rest before embarking on the gruelling ten day mission.   

 

***

 

John wakes up feeling distinctly un-refreshed.  He'd dreamt of Flight 59-Z again.  It had been an unprecedented disaster, the large transport vessel ferrying relocated passengers from the soon-to-be-gentrified poor slums of Markali to their proposed new home amongst the wealthier inhabitants of Gotham planet. 

Whilst crossing a galactic zone the ship's environmental systems had failed, depriving its passengers of oxygen.  Nearly two thousand people died that day, before the engineers had managed to get the air flowing again, John's parents had been amongst them.  John had only survived as his father had pressed his face against one of the dwindling air vents, allowing his son to narrowly escape the same suffocating fate as everyone else.  It had been a long time until John had been able to not habitually wake up from nightmares gasping for air and covered in sweat.

Out of the 2400 people travelling from Markali to Gotham, only 483 actually made it to their new concrete home known as 'the Narrows'.

 

John groans as he runs his hand down his face and feels the cold sweat that's gathered during the night.  The last thing he feels like doing right now is a prison transport run. 

"Think of the money," he grunts to himself as he swings his legs out of the bed and goes to wash his face in the communal sink.  Glancing upwards he catches sight of himself in the grubby mirror.  He's younger than a lot of the other guys on the force and he looks it too.  Although he's worked hard to try and build up the toned muscle he now possesses, he knows that he'll always retain his slender figure, despite how many protein shakes he downs. 

Suddenly the PA system blares overhead, "Could the Pit Mission crew please assemble up front.  Departure in thirty minutes." 

John groans again, resting his forehead against the cool mirror's surface before taking a deep steadying breath.

"Think of the money," he tells himself placatingly.

He quickly gets dressed into his uniform, holsters his gun and grabs his pre-packed travel bag.  There's no spouse or girlfriend to slow him down with hugs or teary goodbyes so he's the first one to arrive on the landing pad. 

"Be careful out there Blake," Commissioner Gordon nods at him.

"Will do Sir," John replies before the other men show up and they begin to board the ominous looking transport ship. 

 

 

***3 days later***

 

 

"How deep is that thing?"

John glances out of the window to check out the hole in the ground that apparently has everybody morbidly fascinated.  It really doesn't look like much from above but he knows from reading the schematics that the Pit's like an insect hive underground, it spreads out for miles. 

"Why can't we just dangle some food on a stick and make them come to us?" One of the other cops, Towsen, laughs, "Why do we have to go in and get them?"

John raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his colleague before turning to collect the harnesses.  Half of the team of prison guards and cops are joining up with security forces on the surface in order to extract the prisoners and relocate them onto the ship.  John feels a slight twinge of regret that he's not part of the surface team and so will never get to see the inside of the notorious Pit. 

"Are all the restraints ready and prepped?" He asks  the chief guard, Colby. 

"All ready," Colby replies, ticking something off of a handheld checklist, "The prisoners have already been processed ready for departure so they'll be wearing cuffs or masks."

"Masks?" John frowns, "Is that really necessary?"

"Wanna try putting your finger through the bars?" Colby smiles grimly up at John, "Trust me, we're gonna probably run out of tranquilizer before this trip's over."

"We've got enough to fully sedate nearly all of the prisoners," John replies, surprised.

"Exactly," Colby nods, " _Nearly_ all." 

 "We're only meant to use sedatives if there's a problem," John states, glancing back round at the men who are strapping on the harnesses and readying themselves, a few of them appear to be murmuring prayers.

"This your first prison run kid?" Colby squints at him.  John feels the tips of his ears burning red, "No it's my sixth and I'm not a kid, I'm a cop."

"Sorry, sorry!" Colby laughs and throws up his hands in an apologetic gesture, "I didn't mean anything by it Blake, everyone's a kid compared to me."  Colby gestures to his own weathered face and greying hair. 

"Where do you want the onboard team stationed?" John asks.

"You can be up front," Colby smiles mischievously, "You're going to be our official meet and greet, so make sure you look authoritative and intimidating."

"Right," John replies drily, "Sure thing."

 

They have to wait around for a few hours before the surface team finally arrive back with the prisoners.  John knows they're bringing the maximum security ones on first so as to get them in the highly secured individual cages at the back of the ship. 

"Here they come."  John hears someone mutter behind him as the doors winch open and blinding sunlight filters through into the dingy ship.  John has to admit as he watches the first few prisoners filter onboard that perhaps the masks weren't the worst idea.  There's only a handful of them wearing the contraptions, but they all like they're the type of guys who could cause a world of trouble if you gave them an inch.

"That all the high security ones?" John asks, leaning forwards to peer out of the ship and nearly tumbling backwards a moment later as a gigantic silhouette approaches the doors.  John coughs embarrassed as he rights himself to face the final max security prisoner.  The man's huge, with a shaved head and a slightly different mask to all the others' that looks like two metallic hands trying to claw his face open.  John realises he's staring when the prisoner quirks an eyebrow at him, it's hard to interpret the expression beneath the mask but if John had to guess he'd say the prisoner had been amused by his reaction. 

John coughs again as he feels his face heating up, "Prisoner number 263," he announces to the security guard stood behind him.  He's reading the number off of where it's branded to the man's forearm.

"Bane."

The voice makes John lose his train of thought as he gapes back up at the prisoner who he's pretty sure just spoke to him.

"I'm sorry?" John swallows, trying to remember that he's the one carrying a gun.

"My name is Bane," the man replies in a breathy, hoarse voice. 

"Yeah well now you're a number," the prison guard snaps from behind John, "and prisoners aren't allowed to speak."

"You're right through there Ba... _263_." John stammers, cursing himself for sounding like a flight attendant directing a passenger to his seat.

_Think of the money_

He repeats it to himself internally like a mantra as the masked man shuffles past him followed by three guards carrying a chain attached to a collar looped around his neck. 

John tears his eyes away from the retreating figure, forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand as the rest of the inmates begin to board the ship.

 

***

 

"How come we get the same food as them?" Towsen grouches as he grabs one of the wrapped meals from the kitchen galley, "It's an affront on our civil rights, that's what it is." 

John rolls his eyes as he goes to grab a dinner pack of his own. 

"Hey Blake!"

John turns round to see Colby walking towards him, "Think you could replace me on duty whilst I have my dinner? I've got to make a few calls to The Fortress, briefing them on our progress so far."

John glances down at his food, "Um, yeah sure."

"Thanks kid," Colby smiles, looking relieved.

"Wait," John calls out as Colby walks towards the front guards' cabin, "which section are you on?"

"Max security prisoners," Colby shouts back, "oh and they need their dinner."

"Fantastic," John murmurs, going to grab the designated box of meals for the caged prisoners. 

As he's walking back through the main section of the ship John gets a lovely first hand view of the Pit prisoners' table manners.  Half of them are devouring the stale bread and plastic cheese like it's the first real food they've seen in years, perhaps it is.  He's nearly reached the cages when a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.  John grits his teeth and turns round, preparing for a fight, most of the other guards are off-duty eating their dinners but there's thankfully still a few milling about. 

The prisoner who's grabbed his wrist is short but muscled, he's sitting in front of a flap down table of empty food packaging, clearly having finished his meal already.  His hair is black and ragged and there's a series of scars down one side of his neck.  "That more food for me?" the prisoner asks in a leering drawl, gesturing his other cuffed hand to the box John's holding.

"No," John replies stiffly, "You've already had your meal."

"I want dessert," the man sneers, raking his eyes up and down John's body.  John tenses automatically, pulling his hand back against the unrelenting grip.

"Let him go Uri," a deep muffled voice commands from one of the cages, "You wouldn't want to hold up my dinner would you?"

The prisoner named Uri lets go of John's wrist like it's burned him, his face darkens and he gives John one last hardened grimace before sitting back in his allocated seat.  John glances back to the cages but he can't yet see which one of them the voice came from, although he has a sneaking suspicion he's heard it before.  Collecting himself as much as he can, John continues forwards with the meal box, finally entering into the cage cabin.  It's a narrow passageway with three cages on either side making for six maximum security prisoners in total. 

John crouches down in front of the first cage to push the liquidized meal through along with a straw for access through the mask.

"You should feed my brother first," The brunet man in the cage tells him with an amused voice, "he sounds hungry."

John sighs, "And which one's your brother?"

"His name is Bane," The man replies making John freeze momentarily from where he's unwrapping the meals, "and I am Barsad." 

John nods stiffly before ignoring the man's advice and pushing the meal through the bars of the first cage.  He'll be damned if he's going to let one incident with a touch-starved prisoner spook him enough to make him forget that he's the one in charge here. 

"This is the part where a civilised person would reciprocate with _their_ name," Barsad continues in a strangely accented voice.  John wants to retort, questioning just how civilised his current company is, but something makes him stop and instead he answers, "Officer Blake,"

"Officer is an unusual first name," the strange hoarse voice announces from the cage next door that John now realises must belong to Bane, "and I have met men from many planets."

John's about to reply when he hears the low chuckles from the other cages and he realises that the prisoner is mocking him.  "Yeah well I doubt you've met anyone from my planet before," John says grimly, "Most of them are dead."

He lifts himself up and nudges the meal box to the next cage with his foot, where the massive shape of Bane is waiting for him by the bars.  "And where are you from?" Bane asks, cocking an eyebrow and regarding John curiously.

"Why should I tell you?" John snaps back, realising that he's forgotten to enforce the 'no-talking' rule for prisoners and it's a little late now.

"Why shouldn't you tell me?" Bane sighs, although he sounds tired rather than annoyed.  John knows that the prisoners have probably been kept awake for days whilst they were being processed ready for transport. 

"I'm from a colony called Markali," John replies as he punctures Bane's meal package with a straw and slides it through the bars before pressing the external button to release Bane's shackles.  The man shifts slowly, hissing slightly as he stretches out his limbs that are criss-crossed with a patchwork of pearly white scars. 

"Where are you from?" John asks curiously before he can stop himself.  He bites his lip in annoyance, he's never normally this unprofessional whilst on active duty.  He blames it on being cooped up with the universe's most boring selection of cops for the last three days.

"I am from the Pit," Bane replies.  John huffs and glances back at the man's face, expecting to see another teasing expression there.  Instead Bane's eyes are hard and cold as they focus on the food in front of him.  John swallows uncomfortably as he finishes giving the last of the caged prisoners their dinner. 

"I'll be back in ten minutes to re-activate your restraints," John announces with as much authority as he can muster, "I want everyone ready to be shackled against the wall points and if there's any trouble..."

"Why would there be trouble?" Barsad exclaims, he sounds close to laughing which makes John feel all the more awkward.  Barsad throws his hands out in an emphatic gesture, "We're not exactly going anywhere."

John takes a deep breath before turning round and carrying the empty box back through the main passenger cabin, taking careful measures to avoid the handsy prisoner Bane had called 'Uri'.  John wonders if there had been some sort of power hierarchy in the Pit? If there was, he thinks he can guess that Bane was somewhere near the top.

John eats hurriedly, not wanting to leave the max security prisoners out of their restraints for too long.  He won't admit to himself that a small part of him is also curious about Bane and Barsad and he wants to finish up before Colby comes back on his shift and takes over from him. 

When John returns to collect the used packaging from the caged prisoners he sees that Bane's soup has been left untouched.  "You didn't want your food?" John asks, surprised, seeing as it was Bane that had told Uri to let him go in order to bring the masked man his dinner.

Bane glances at John from where he's now safely back in the restraints and cocks an amused eyebrow, "And pray tell Officer Blake, how would I consume that food?"

"With the straw..." John trails off as he gets a proper look at Bane's mask.  It's a different design to the others and John can see that there's no hole or gap through which to put the straw. 

"Fuck," John mutters to himself, realising that perhaps he was meant to have taken Bane's mask off and now he's going to look like a complete idiot to Colby when he gets back. 

"Why is your mask like that?" John asks instead, "How do you ever eat?"

"I take it off," Bane shrugs.  He then turns his head angled away from the bars so that John can see the large lock that one of the security team must have fitted to the back of the mask. 

"I'll go find out the combination," John sighs, "I wish you'd told me earlier."

"I didn't want to worry you," Bane replies, "you seemed like such a proud dinner lady."

"Fuck you," John grits back, rising up angrily to his feet and storming past the dry chuckling from Barsad's cage. 

"Hey Towsen?" John calls out as he nears the front of the spacecraft again, "What's the combination for prisoner 263's mask?"

"Masks stay on the whole trip Blake," Towsen replies looking confused, "What's the problem?"

"One of the prisoners' masks won't allow them to eat," John sighs, "he needs it to come off fully."

Towsen pulls a face, "I dunno, go check with one of the guards.  Sounds a bit dodgy to me."

"Thanks," John replies drily, "but we should probably let him eat at some point over the next week." 

Towsen shrugs at him, "Why? It'd just mean one less for processing."

John shakes his head as he goes to find one of the security guards and obtain the combination code for Bane's mask.   

Eventually, after managing to track it down, John returns back towards the cages feeling rather embarrassed and sheepish.  He's not exactly looking like a capable professional here.  John presses a coded sequence of buttons before swiping his key card to make the bars of the second cage slowly lift up and out of the way.  John nervously watches them retreat into the ceiling before taking a tentative step inside the cage.  There's not really any designated protocol for a situation like this, however Bane remains perfectly still.  The far larger man is regarding John with slightly crinkled eyes as if he finds the whole thing somewhat comical. 

"You're going to have to lean forwards so I can get at the combination lock," John tells him in a decidedly firm voice. 

Bane does as he's told, perhaps he even overdoes it, as it ends up looking like he's bowing at John's feet, which for some reason makes goosebumps prickle up and down the young officer's arms.  There's a heavy silence as John ineptly fumbles with the padlock before clicking it free of the mask and accidentally dropping it to the metal floor with a resounding clang that makes him jump.  Annoyed that Bane didn't so much as flinch, John sighs and stalks back towards the exit of the cell, eager to get the bars in place again.  "You should be able to take it off now," John says, glancing back round.

Bane's large hand is already fiddling with the thick leather and metal straps that hold the mask securely covering most of his face.  John knows he should probably allow the prisoner some privacy but he can't help but be slightly curious at what's under the mask that requires it to be _locked_ on. 

Bane continues, seemingly unaware of the eyes on him, to pull the contraption away from his face with an audible hiss of relief, at least John _thinks_ it's relief. 

"Oh..." John murmurs before he can stop himself.  Bane's face is...well it's hard to describe.  It's bisected diagonally by a large mottled scar that warps and twists what once must have been enviably full lips.  His nose is sharp and mostly intact, although another scar runs from the left hand side of it and up to his eye socket.  There are small red pinpricks around his mouth and jaw that look like they've come from some internal machinery that the mask conceals.  What shocks John the most, is that although Bane has clearly been severely injured and arguably mutilated, he's still managing to retain a old sense of aesthetic beauty in his visage. 

His nose reminds John of ancient sculptures he's seen on some of the more cultured planets, his eyes are a hazel gray and....oh crap...they're staring right back at John.

"I'm sorry!" John blurts before wishing he could kick himself without looking like more of an idiot.  He immediately hurries out of the cell and closes the bars again, turning to rush back down the corridor and remember he's meant to be a professional who's been doing this for years for Christ's sakes. 

"Officer Blake..."

John curses internally as he freezes mid-way through his anticipated getaway.  He walks back to Bane's cell with a twisted feeling in his gut.

"Yes Prisoner 263?" John asks, feeling slightly guilty when a flicker of shadowed emotion crosses Bane's scarred face. 

"My soup is cold," Bane tells him in an equally cold tone.

"What do you want me to do about it?" John tries to snap but it comes out as more of a whimper, no, seriously, fuck his life right now. 

"He wants you to heat it up for him," Barsad announces from the neighbouring cell. 

"I'm not a dinner lady!" John protests before remembering the cold soup he'd had to eat alone in his police studio apartment the night before the mission when the power in his building had cut out...again.

"Fine," John grumbles, "pass it here," he sticks his hand through the bars whilst distinctly remembering a sign back in a zoo back on his home planet that instructed you not to do exactly this. 

Bane quirks an eyebrow before nudging the spill-proofed bowl towards John, who grabs it and wrenches it back through the bars with perhaps a little more force than necessary. 

"How sweet," a deep voice rumbles from one of the other cages, "Bane's got himself a bitch already and we're not even at the new prison yet,"

There's a chorus of chuckles from the nearby section of the aircraft that make John's face heat up and flush with humiliation.  He hadn't realised quite how far sound travelled in this frustratingly echoey ship.

 

"Seriously?" Towsen asks with an incredulous look as John stalks towards him with the bowl of soup before placing it in the microwave.

"Shut up," John mutters, avoiding eye contact with the other cop before the timer goes off and he can make his way back down the plane with the now steaming food. 

"Hey kid," a voice calls out in a low purr, "I'm a little cold over here, maybe  you could warm me up too?"

There's another wave of appreciative laughter and cat calls as John tries to placate himself with mental images of sticking all of them in a giant microwave until they explode. 

 

"It's _very_ hot," Bane hisses as he brings the soup to his mouth and slurps noisily.

"I'm not blowing on it for you," John says quickly, eliciting a chocked noise from Barsad's cell.  Bane pauses, the bowl half way back up to his mouth before cocking his head at John with an amused expression.  "I did not even consider asking that of you Officer,"

"Good," John snaps before drawing back away from the bars and heading towards the back offices.  He figures someone else can deal with collecting Prisoner 263's used crockery. 

John passes through the cabin's sliding doors before slumping down on the nearest couch and running his hand across his face wearily.

"Rough day already Officer Blake?"

John looks up to see Colby giving him a sympathetic look, a clearly finished dinner on the tray in front of him.  "How about you get yourself something to eat now?" Colby says kindly, "I'll take the nightshift for you tonight."

"No, no," John waves in protest, "I'm fine."

"Alright then," Colby frowns at him, "but if you don't feel up to it at any point, just swap with one of the other guys and I'll jiggle around the duty roster.

"Thanks," John replies lamely, hating the special treatment as if he's some naive and inexperienced cadet fresh from the academy. 

"One thing's for certain," Colby chuckles drily, "You'll remember this trip for the rest of your career, won't ever get another one like this.  Bit of a landmark event really."

John nods in grim agreement before walking over to grab a packed dinner from the cops' table where there's slim pickings on offer.  "Hey," Colby says, "take one of ours," he gestures over to the guards' designated table, "I think we might have a higher food budget than you guys."

"Wouldn't surprise me," John mutters before padding backwards and turning towards the far more appetising looking selection of meals, "Thanks, again."

"No problem kid," Colby grins before standing up and stretching with a pained moan, "Hi ho, off to work I go," he laughs before exiting through the sliding door and leaving John alone in the workers' common room with his protein paste sandwich and fake fruit shake. 

 

~

 

      

 That night is surprisingly quiet.  John had expected more disturbances, however it would seem either that the prisoners genuinely value their sleep or they're all just exhausted from the previous day's events.  John makes sure he's put on the shift at the top of the ship so as to avoid having to go anywhere near the caged cells.

"Just seven more days," John tells himself as he crawls into his cot for his scheduled sleep break the next morning.  Not that you'd know it was morning, there's no sunrise or chirping of birds, just digital clocks beeping at them all.  He guesses it's not much different to Gotham.  At least in the slums of Markali there were slithers of sunlight that used to creep under his bedroom door every morning to greet him.  The smell of his mother's cooking and the mouth-watering anticipation of breakfast which was always the best meal of the day as his mother saved the largest portions for what she determined was also the most important meal of the day. 

"Blake,"

John groans as he pulls the covers a little further up over his face, it doesn't smell like his mom is cooking bacon, and right now the only thing worth getting up for would be bacon.

"Blake!"

John jerks back to reality with a tidal wave of ice trickling through his stomach and chest as he remembers where he is and why there will definitely be no bacon. 

"Thought you might have used a sedative on yourself there for a moment," Towsen laughs from where he's hunched over John's cot.  He nods towards the bed, "My shift's up and yours is due to start in three minutes,"

"Kay..." John grumbles sleepily as he reluctantly slides out of the warmth of the blanket nest he'd managed to create for himself. 

"Go take a shower," Towsen sniffs, "you smell of protein paste sandwiches."

John wrinkles his nose at the other cop before shuffling off towards the communal shower room, shared by the cops, guards and pilots.  None of the prisoners are expected to wash for the week.  John wonders how they bathed back in the Pit, if they even had running water? He knows for sure that they were all hosed down before boarding the ship so as to make sure the smell didn't overpower the guards.   John is very grateful for this as if this is what's considered 'clean', he can't really imagine what they smelled like before. 

After hurrying to wash himself, John glances round the showers to check that he's alone before gliding his hand over his lower abdomen and brushing the base of his cock.  If anyone came in right now, he'd still be able to play it off as washing himself 'thoroughly'.  He sighs as his grip tightens and moves lower, taking his length in hand before gently starting to pump himself with the beating pulses of the shower spray above him.

He hasn't had an opportunity to relax himself like this yet whilst on the transport ship.  There's always somebody else around.  At least that's one benefit of actually having the prisoners finally onboard, the guards and cops are all occupied for the most part. 

John's front teeth hook over his chewed bottom lip, he nips himself slightly and lets out a small muffled gasp of arousal as his hand begins to slide faster along his shaft.  The desperation of needing this release pools hotly in the base of his stomach.  It trickles through his groin in twinges of want and increasing urgency, lest someone walk in and he has to stop before actually finishing. 

John's got porn catalogues back home in the Gotham precinct apartments, digitally enhanced images and holograms of writhing, moaning bodies.  Their faces bland enough to cater for any preference.  Not fancying having one of the security guards finding a 'projectorporn' device in his luggage search, John had opted not to bring anything.  Instead, he now let his imagination drift up a hardened torso, his fingers dipping into the grooves of muscles that he knows could lift him up and fuck him hard against a wall. 

John shudders, surprising himself with the intensity of it.  He knows he's close to orgasm as he groans and leans forwards, resting his head against the damp shower tiles, the spray of now luke-warm water cascading down his shoulders and back.  "Fuck," he hisses as his strokes quicken again and his hips begin to join in the pulsing rhythm. 

"Fuck!" He shouts as his orgasm hits him and he spurts a splatter of come across the metal tiles in front of him.  John's chest heaves breathlessly, he can still feel the old familiar twinges of suffocating panic running a sour spike through his ecstasy before he reminds himself to take slow, deep breaths.  There's enough oxygen on this ship. 

After regaining his breath, John re-opens his eyes.  The previously dim bathroom seems brighter now, his eyes having been clenched shut for most of the last five minutes.  He startles as he hears someone sliding open the bathroom door and quickly moves to wash away the evidence before grabbing his towel and sliding bashfully past a somewhat scandalised looking older guard. 

As he goes to get properly dressed ready for his shift John rolls his eyes at himself. 

' _Hardened muscles'_?

I mean what the hell is he fantasising about? Why not something obvious? Like supple breasts or curvaceous hips?

 

"Blake - you're on max security," a guard with a clipboard tells him as he walks out into the main cabin space.  John nods and tries not to let the apprehension show on his face, he'd just been tired yesterday, that's all.  It's not necessarily going to be such a professionally undermining, soul crushing experience today. 

"Good morning Officer Blake," Barsad greets him as John draws up to the cages. 

John chooses to ignore him, concentrating instead on ticking off the prisoners on the registration sheet, although he figures if one of these guys had escaped they'd know about it pretty quickly without having to check. 

John purposefully avoids Bane's cell's until last, pausing by the bars to peer in at the large hulking man.  For some reason this cage seems darker than the others and John has to reluctantly draw closer to positively identify the number stamped on Bane's arm.    

"You're dripping on my floor Officer Blake," a deep nasal voice tells him.

"Sorry," John mutters sarcastically, stepping backward.  His hair is still wet from the showers and there's now a small puddle of drips at the foot of Bane's bars. 

"You are very curious," Bane says in a slow, measured voice that makes John bristle defensively.  He's not sure that he wants to be perceived as 'curious'.  Especially when he's the one that's meant to be in charge. 

"Did you have a good shower Officer?" Bane asks, and although his eyes are twinkling with mirth, he still manages to make the question seem harmlessly non-lecherous and more of a polite enquiry.

"It was fine," John replies, guessing that there's no harm in at least answering the prisoner.    

"Do you feel relaxed now?" Bane asks again, stretching against his cuffs so his bones crack and he lets out a sigh of relief that makes John's stomach twinge strangely.

"I..." John blushes furiously, there's no way that the prisoner could possibly know what John had just been doing in the bathrooms. 

"It's been a while since I've enjoyed a shower," Bane sighs wistfully, cutting through John's pathetic stammering.  "We used to have a small waterfall in the Pit but it dried up seven years ago."

John's eyebrows raise high on his forehead, he wonders how long exactly Bane was in the Pit for? 

"Plus it was always bringing in drowned scorpions," Barsad barks humorously from the neighbouring cage.  "Occasionally a live one too!"

"Not the best time to have your trousers down," one of the other caged prisoners chuckles from across the corridor.  A round of hoarse, gruff laughter runs in a ring around John who stands awkwardly in the centre of the conversation wishing that a different topic would be brought up that doesn't involve showers and nudity. 

"Oh please, the curs had more bite than the scorpions ever did, they were the ones you had to watch out for!" another voice chimes in making the laughter grow louder.  John glances up nervously to notice that a few of the other guards are staring over at his section, probably wondering what all the ruckus is about.  This is the last thing he needs.

"You would have been such an obedient cur," the first prisoner with a blonde beard grunts, his piercing eyes, raking disturbingly down John's body. 

"What?" John screws up his face, although whether it's in disgust or regret at asking the question, he's not sure.  He guesses 'curs' were the nickname given to the men in the Pit that others perhaps used...in one way or another.

"You already follow our orders like a good little bitch," the man sneers making John tense before his bones flood with anger. 

"No talking," John snaps, he finally seems to have found his voice again and his fingers reach for his taser.  He turns his hip so the prisoner has a full view of the weapon. 

"Oh _now_ the chatty little bird doesn't want to talk?" the man huffs with mean sounding laughter.

"I believe he said prisoners are not allowed to speak," Bane's voice comes icily through the bars, effectively silencing the blonde bearded man.  John stiffens even further, Bane sounds angry.  John guesses the masked prisoner doesn't like being told what to do or being reminded that he's not the one in control here.  The atmosphere in the caged corridor has changed to become tense and charged.  John half wonders if he preferred the leering laughter to this new brittle silence. 

He walks quickly away from the high security cubicles back towards the main prisoner cabin. 

"Everyone's accounted for," he tells Colby as the older guard comes shuffling out of the common room with an expectant smile. 

"Figured as much," Colby chuckles, "we're all still in one piece after all!"

For some reason the thought makes John shudder uncomfortably.  He nods brusquely before walking towards some of the other cops, hoping to distract himself. 

"Nasty bunch aren't they?" Officer Smyth is saying as John draws up to them.  "One of the fuckers tried to take my eye out last night with a plastic fork."

"Oh so that's where that new battle scar is from," another officer chuckles, gesturing to the thin red scratches down Smyth's left cheek.

"Might be plastic but it still fucking hurt!" Smyth responds defensively, "I'm just saying, you turn around for one minute and suddenly they're feral!"

"You sedate him?" John asks as he folds up his registration clip board, slotting it into the allotted shelf space.

"Had to," Smyth nods seriously, "he was this close to picking up his spoon."

The other cops burst into laughter as the hairs on the back of John's neck prickle up.  He turns round, narrowing his eyes and scanning the cabin.  He's not sure why but he's always been able to tell when someone is looking at him.  Sure enough there are a few glares pointed in their direction, but none seem to be personally aimed at him.  John's gaze slides to the darkened end of the aisle where the cages are.

"Re-fuelling!" Towsen announces loudly, clapping his hand down on John's shoulder and making him violently flinch.

"Fuck's sakes Towsen," John growls angrily.

"Ooh someone's on edge," Towsen giggles like an excited school girl.

"So he should be," Colby nods walking up to them, "Blake's on high security duty,"

"Shouldn't you still be asleep?" John asks Towsen with a huff, "you only just finished your shift."

"I've gotten an hour's shut-eye," Towsen shrugs, "plus the refuelling station we're docking at has a bar." 

"and bargirls," Smyth adds enthusiastically in explanation. 

"I'm sorry son but it looks like you'll be stuck as onboard crew again," Colby tells John sheepishly, "we've got to leave people here with the prisoners." 

"It's fine," John says quickly, he never was that into refuelling station bars anyway, they're always full of people looking for a fight.  Normally they pick on John because they assume he's an easy target, being kinda small.  He's gotta admit though, it is pretty amusing punching the smugness off of their faces.

"There's another hour before we arrive at the station," Colby states firmly.  "I'll start assigning roles so as to avoid too much disappointment, I'll be staying onboard too," he gives John another sympathetic look before shuffling off. 

"Looks like you'll be stuck heating prisoners' meals up all day," Towsen winks at John who rolls his eyes and ducks out of the ensuing conversation that seems to be mainly orientated around bar girl exploits.

"The ones on these remote stations are always y'know," Smyth shrugs, "a bit y'know....eyeballs under their armpits and knuckles dragging along the ground."

"Still prettier than anything I've seen for two weeks," Towsen grunts.

John sighs as he walks further away from them, making his way back down to his post at the end of the cabin.

 

 

*********

 

John watches the prisoners' reactions carefully as they are all informed that in a few minutes the ship will be docking at a fuelling station outpost.  He's been briefed to be on the lookout for any signs of trouble, prisoners potentially thinking that they can try their luck with most of the guards off ship. 

The rest of the skeleton crew that are staying onboard are all wearing miserable expressions.  John smiles to himself, at least this way he'll get first pick of the packaged meals.  It's a protein paste deluxe for him tonight, maybe two if it's been a particularly dismal day.  One downside is that Towsen has also been selected to remain onboard, much to the other cop's vocal indignation.

"We've already got twenty men staying on the ship!" Towsen complains loudly to Colby who sighs. 

"I'm sorry Officer Towsen but rules are rules, I need at _least_ twenty cops and guards remaining onboard at all times.  I'm already playing it close by letting so many of you disembark once we reach the station....speaking of which..." Colby trails off as John hears the sequence of mechanical noises indicating that port-docking is imminent. 

"This is bullshit," Towsen grouches angrily, coming back over to stand beside John. 

"Don't kick up too much of a fuss," John sighs, "Colby's your superior for the next week remember?"

"Don't see why," Towsen growls, "guy's a senile buffoon - not even a cop!"

"You liked him well enough when you thought you were going to get to go a bar," John shrugs as Towsen huffs irritably at him.

"There should be more than twenty of us staying onboard as it is," John mutters, shaking his head as he leaves Towsen and walks back towards his post by the max security prisoners.  He figures the men put too much pressure on Colby to let them disembark and go have a bit of fun.  Doubtless they'll all come back reeking of sweat and alcohol...well, John sincerely hopes that the pilots won't be reeking of alcohol. 

It's eerily quiet down by the cages, none of the usual banter from Barsad or the curious questions from Bane.  John remembers the earlier incident and bites his lip frustratedly.  He knows that there's a fine line between being in control of the prisoners and being an asshole. 

The rest of the crew filter excitedly out of the ship about ten minutes later.  The prisoners on the whole seem unusually subdued, John can't help but wonder if Colby gave the orders for them all to be sedated for the duration of the refuelling stopover.  He can't say it would be the _worst_ idea ever.   A pang of guilt hits him as he tries to remember that these are real living people they're dealing with.  He can't help but recall the way the Markali slums population had been herded onboard Colony transport ships like cattle.  There was barely any food, water and in the end, no air. 

Two hours pass torturously slowly and John has already helped himself to his third paste sandwich.  The prisoners' meal time is in about five minutes and everyone is still being uncomfortably silent.  Well a couple of the prisoners whistled at him as he walked past to prep the meals.  One even made a disturbingly wet noise that sounded like he was sucking his own finger.  It had come from the direction of Uri's seat, but John had kept his eyeline firmly forwards, determined to avoid any potentially confrontational incidents tonight. 

He programmes the large industrial microwave to heat up all the pre-packaged gruel stews, making sure that none of the high liquid content meals reach a high enough temperature to be used as a weapon.

"Don't know why you even bother heating them up at all," Towsen grunts, "you notice old Colby's not even coming to help us out here?"

"He's sleeping," John replies, "his shift doesn't start until a bit later." 

"Bullshit," Towsen murmurs, "that's what it is."

"Yeah, think you mentioned that," John sighs as the microwave dings loudly in front of them.  Delivering the food to the prisoners is a tiresome task as everybody's cuffs have to be momentarily adjusted and extra security barriers have to be electronically erected.  Ironically, it's actually the caged prisoners that are the easiest to feed.  Well, apart from having to remove Bane's mask. 

John's fingers fumble nervously with the strap four times before he finally manages to unclick it and step backwards, allowing Bane to draw the metal clawed embrace of a contraption away from his face.

"Stew's hot tonight," John tells the large hulking man before kicking himself internally.  Wasn't _he_ the one that said no talking? Now it just looks as if he's trying to bait Bane like a total dick. 

Bane, however, seems to have no qualms in taking the statement as an open invitation to speak.

"Not joining the landing party Officer Blake?" he asks almost softly.

"Some of us have to work," John shrugs before exiting the cubicle and pressing the coded sequence to uncuff Bane and simultaneously lower the bars.  The large, scarred man shuffles forwards to reach for his steaming bowl of stew. 

"I remember outpost stations..." Barsad drawls wistfully from the cage next door, "had a sweetheart on one of them once," 

This information earns him a round of appreciative huffs from the surrounding inmates.  John moves to sit down on a nearby guard's stool as Barsad begins to recount his adventures in the more far flung corners of Colony controlled space.  It would seem that the shrewd looking man had once been somewhat of an outlaw, a laser gun for hire so to speak. 

"I was the best," Barsad laughs, "cops never caught me, that's for sure,"

John frowns, "Evidently someone did though," he points out.  Barsad turns to give him a hard stare and the other prisoners fall quiet. 

"Evidently," Barsad replies, although his tone is cold. 

"You'll have to forgive my brother," Bane's voice slips between the bars and coils around John's neck, yanking his gaze towards the other man.  "He is still somewhat bitter about his incarceration."

"Government agents," Barsad spits, "worse than scum!" 

There's a chorus of 'hear hear's' from around the cabin as John shifts his weight on the uncomfortably designed stool.  It's  not exactly surprising that the former residents of the Pit would be anti-government in their political sentiments. 

"Cops are just pigs in the government's farm," the blonde bearded prisoner growls aggressively, making the hair on the back of John's neck stand up. 

"The government have helped provide the poorer parts of the colonies with water, medicines and other vital supplies,"  John retorts, angry that something he's worked his whole life for would be so carelessly undermined by someone so ignorant.

"What about oxygen?" Bane asks, his voice is quieter than usual and nearly goes unnoticed by John who turns to narrow his eyes at him. 

"What?" John snaps.

"There is more to every story than you care to know young Officer," Bane sighs as if he's grown weary of the conversation, even though he was the one who started it so cryptically. 

"What's for dessert?" One of the main cabin prisoners shouts loudly, suddenly breaking the tension and causing others to join in the cry.  John huffs, standing up quickly and walks back down to the main passenger area.  Towsen's meant to be supervising this section but the idiot seems to have disappeared again.

"Here it comes now," a voice rasps nastily.  John doesn't even have to look to know it's Uri. 

"That's enough," a nearby guard barks at the prisoners before John has the chance to say anything. 

"You're lucky we're feeding you at all!"  

"Oh we're _so_ grateful," Uri sing-songs with a sneer, "that you and your government dropped us in an infested hell hole before figuring out what to do with us." 

"We could have just left you rot down there," the guard snaps exasperatedly and much to John's chagrin.  The other man doesn't seem to realise he's only riling the prisoners up further. 

"No..." comes Bane's voice, now loud and booming and in quite a different tone to the one he's used when speaking to John.  "Your government wanted to build new cities, new houses that only the rich can afford."

"Like _you'd_ know anything about government policies," the guard retorts with a smirk, "I heard you didn't even see light in the Pit!  I hear you all just killed, ate or fucked anything you bumped in to!"

"Hopefully not in that order," Bane replies, although his voice is wooden and dry, as if he has already lost interest in the baiting jibes of the guard.

"Enough," John whispers urgently to the guard who he remembers is called 'Mark'.  " Enough Mark, just let them eat," 

"Tell  you what," Mark growls, "we deserve special bonuses for staying onboard with these monsters whilst the others go drinking."

"Talk to Colby," John mutters, "there's nothing I can do." 

Mark wonders off as John sees Towsen reappear with a goofy grin on his face. 

"What?" John asks bluntly, realising at once that the other cop must be up to something.

"Found something good in Colby's personal cupboard," Towsen tells John with a wink before producing two bottles of strong spirits.

"You have to be kidding," John replies, fighting the urge to smack the other officer around the head.  "Does he know you raided his stores?"

"Course not," Towsen chuckles, "Old fool's fast asleep, my mate Parker over there made sure of that."

Johns scans round the cabin to where Towsen is gesturing, sure enough another cop is stood about ten feet away behind some rows of grim looking prisoners.  The cop's wearing the same dumb expression as Towsen and he's carrying an empty pack of what looks like...

" _Sedatives_?!" John cries before Towsen anxiously hushes him.  "Are you joking Towsen? _What are you thinking_?! You fucking _sedated_ our superior officer?!"

"Shh," Towsen hisses, "Keep your voice down, we don't want to let the prisoners hear, fuckers'll rat us out.  Look Blake, it's not a big deal, he'll wake up soon enough and just be embarrassed he slept through his shift, no harm done. "

" _No harm done_?" John repeats incredulously, "We're already short on men as it is you asshole.  So you just figured it would be a good idea to tranquilize the chief guard and inebriate the ones that were actually awake?" 

"Give it a rest Blake," Towsen groans, "have you looked around this ship? It's got more defences than a battleship.  Everyone's in double cuffs, the others are in fucking cages for Christ's sakes, do you really think they're going anywhere?"

"Why did they even bother manning the prison transfer journey then?" John snaps, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

"Fucked if I know," Towsen shrugs, "far as I can see, we're just glorified air stewards." 

"You're an idiot," John huffs before storming off to go see if he can rouse Colby and sort this mess the hell out.  He knows that men tend to get a little angsty when cooped up on transport ships for weeks, especially in a tense environment like this one, but Towsen's just taken it too damn far. 

 

"Hello?" John calls out as he walks through into the guards' shared bunk room.  There's no reply, just the heavy scraping sounds of someone snoring.  "Shit," John mutters as he finds Colby passed out on one of the larger corner beds.  He tries nudging the older man, even shaking him, but nothing seems to be able to wake him up from his drugged stupor. 

" _Idiots_ ," John hisses angrily again.  If Gordon gets any wind of this there'll be suspensions for all of them, badges might even be taken away.  John did not work his ass off for so long only to get decommissioned now on behalf of dumbasses like Towsen and Parker. 

" _Bastards_ ," John sighs before kicking the bed post beneath a slumbering Colby and making his way back out to the main cabin.  There should be at least _one_ able minded cop out there with the Pit prisoners. 

 

***

 

Three hours later and John's mood has not improved, not even in the slightest .  If anything, it's worsened due to him now being one of the few actually fully sober cops left onboard the transport ship.

"Blake? Hey Blake?"

John sighs as he glances up to see Mark waving at him from near the cage corridor.  The sight makes John's skin prickle, he'd rather the more inebriated guards not be anywhere near the maximum security inmates right now.

"What?" John asks, jumping up to his feet and already moving across to the gesturing guard.

"What's up with this cage?" Mark hiccoughs, frowning as he points towards the centre cell on the left.

_Bane_.

 

"What's wrong with it?" John snaps, suddenly feeling slightly ill. 

"There's...there's no one in it..." Mark mumbles, drawing closer to the bars. 

John wheels wildly about before gripping his taser, "Everyone on high alert _now_!" he shouts, beckoning to Parker for backup.

"Where's Towsen?" John snaps, he can't see the other cop anywhere when suddenly a large gloved hand closes around his throat.

John's muscles freeze as the foreign grip tightens, making him almost choke,  he wants to stab back with his taser but his arm is pinned.  He tenses, getting ready to kick as hard as he can before he picks up the heady scent of...alcohol? The body behind him starts to shake and convulse as if having a fit or....

_laughing_ , _the person is laughing._

"Fuck!" John screams furiously as a now hysterical Towsen releases him and he swivels round to see the rest of the crew bright red and bawling their eyes out with raucous laughter. 

"Told you we'd get him!" Towsen yells over to Mark, "Blake here is strung tighter than a bargirl's corset!"   

"You fucking _assholes_ ," John hisses, his head is still spinning and his lungs feel like they're running out of air. 

"Give it a break Blake!" Parker chuckles, "god no wonder Gordon's always asking the rest of us to look out for you!" the other cop shakes his head with a wide grin.

John catches his breath as he feels his face heat up with humiliation.  He doesn't know if Parker's just winding him up about Gordon.  He's heard jibes of special treatment before, but that's because John's an orphan and Gordon's always been somewhat of a role model for him.  When John was growing up, Gordon had used to visit the orphanage to talk to the kids about crime and the police force.   But the idea of him asking the other guys, who are clearly _less_ competent to keep an eye on John? It's pretty demoralising.

"Yeah, calm down kid!" Mark joins in with a smirk.  John could punch him, he must have heard Colby using the patronising form of address earlier.  Mark can't exactly be much older than John as it is.  The guard is still loitering over by the cages, laughing his head off along with the rest of the overly merry crew. 

"You're all fucking idiots," John growls as Mark only laughs harder, doubling over and taking a step back.

 

They say that when things go wrong, they happen in slow motion.  It's not like that for John.  He sees Mark steady himself on the bars of Barsad's cage, but what follows - the hand snaking out and winding around Mark's neck, the subsequent brutal yank and yelp of pain - it's over in a flash. 

Suddenly the cabin is filled with shouts and yells.  Everyone's weapons are drawn and John is still standing there, staring in horror as Barsad pulls Mark closer towards him and begins whispering in his ear.

"Release him!" John hears one of the other cops shout, lifting up their gun, ready to shoot between the bars.

"You come any closer and I will snap his neck," Barsad drawls lazily, giving Mark an extra violent tug as if to emphasise his threat. 

"There's no clear shot!" the guard hisses back frantically to the others.  John narrows his eyes as Barsad continues to whisper in Mark's ear.  That's when it hits him, Barsad's telling Mark to open the cage door.  It's in their training to die before doing something that might cause danger to others but Mark's not looking too well-trained right now. 

"Shit," John mutters, raising his own gun and aiming it at Mark, who _is_ a clear shot,"

Suddenly his eyes meet Barsad's, the other man looks almost amused as he gazes questioningly at John, as if daring him to do it, daring him to kill one of his own for the greater good.

"Fuck," John swears lamely as his hands go loose on the gun and he sees Mark reach simultaneously for the cage keypad. 

All of the doors go up at once, not just Barsad's.  Mark must have hit 'A' at the end of the numerical sequence rather than 'I'.  John realises with further horror that Mark's also unshackled all of the max security prisoners.  This is confirmed when Bane comes thundering out of his cage, his eyes focussed and hard, his mask still on.  The mechanical breathing sound is a jolting wake-up to John who rushes forwards to try and help incapacitate the prisoners, but it's hopeless.  There's only about ten guards and five cops actually present in the main cabin, the rest are sleeping.  The one's that _are_ on duty are pretty useless as well what with having downed two bottles of spirits. 

The entire thing is over embarrassingly quickly.  John can't help but wonder what Commissioner Gordon would think if he could see them now, despite training and weapons they are overcome by six masked prisoners.  The last thing John sees before he's knocked out is Bane reaching forwards to snap Mark's neck as the other man goes for his gun.

John lets out a cry of horror before a dull thud of blunt force hits the back of his head.  He assumes he's been killed, that his time is up.  He'll be remembered as a disgraced failure of a cop. 

 

But then he wakes up.     

 

   

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"He's awake," the voice states.  John recognizes it as belonging to Barsad.

"Which one?" another voice grunts  -  _Bane_.

"The lunch lady," Barsad chuckles drily as John groans and cracks open his eyes.  His first instinct is to move but he soon finds that his wrists and ankles have been tightly cuffed together.  His head is reeling and there's a throbbing sore area across the back of his skull.  He shuffles forwards and promptly throws up.

There's a weary sounding huff above him and the noise of somebody scraping their boot on the floor. 

"Lock him in," Bane's voice commands as John realises he's on the wrong side of the cage.

"No, wait!" John cries, lurching forwards, only to be cruelly yanked back by the restraints.  John looks up desperately as the metal bars come firmly down.  Barsad and Bane are stood out in the corridor, the former is carrying what John recognizes as a standard cop issue machine gun.  Bane doesn't appear to have any weapons, not that it looks like he needs any.   His arms are huge and hulking, he's found some kind of utility belt vest combination to wear instead of his prison gear and the mask is still firmly gripping his face. 

There's a noise from further down in the cabin and John turns to see his worst fears realised.  The prisoners have taken the ship.  The other cages are housing cops and guards, although not nearly as many as had been originally left on board.  John dreads to think what happened to them, if they all followed the same fate as Mark?

"We're flying," a voice croaks from John's left as Bane and Barsad walk away towards the other prisoners who are loud and raucous in their victory celebrations.  John turns to see a crumpled and ill looking Colby slumped in the cell next to him. 

"We're not at the refuelling station anymore," Colby says in a strained whisper.

"But the pilots went off board?" John frowns, partially relieved to see at least one other friendly face.

"Apparently one of the prisoners knows how to fly," Colby swallows, gesturing up to where John can now make out the stars of space whizzing past them through one of the portholes.

"Fuck," John bites out, struggling further against his cuffs.  "Do you know where we're heading?"

"No idea," Colby shakes his head, "They've only kept six of us alive, the others...the _bodies_...they put out the airlock."

"Holy hell..." John groans, leaning his forehead against the cold metallic bars of his cage. 

"I don't know why they didn't put us all out," Colby shrugs dejectedly, "I suppose they wanted some hostages in case anyone catches up with us.  I also heard someone say they've managed to dismantle the tracking chip and also the ship radio.  One of the smaller men was telling the leader - the giant with the mask."

"He's called Bane," John sighs.  "Do we have any idea what they want? Is this just a bid for freedom?"  

 "That's about it I reckon," Colby replies, nodding over to some of the milling prisoners, "they saw their chance and they took it."

"Colby..." John begins, "about what happened, I..."

"I know you'll have had nothing to do with it," Colby says quickly, cutting John off.  "You're far too decent an officer for any kind of foolish nonsense like that.  Pity I can't say the same for the rest of you," he adds with a growl, glaring round at the other cages.  John squints and realises he can make out the pale faces of Towsen, Parker and two guards whose names he can't remember. 

An hour later a man arrives with food, it's not heated up and he doesn't bother to uncuff them so they have to bend down to eat it like animals from a trough. 

Two hours later Barsad comes to check on them, he walks past the two men that have been evidently charged with standing guard at the entrance to the cage corridor.  John wonders why Bane's ordered for the hostages to be guarded? Maybe he doesn't exercise _complete_ control over the other Pit inmates.  The thought makes John shudder, not that he should trust Bane to be any more merciful than the rest of them.

"What do you want?" John asks Barsad hoarsely, food from his meal still caked down his chin. 

"Prisoners are not allowed to talk," Barsad snaps, although his mouth is pulled into a strange flattened smile. 

"Where are you trying to go?" John continues, ignoring the other man.  "We hadn't finished refuelling, you're going to run out."

"We have enough to get where we're going," Barsad tell him with a cryptic expression.  Suddenly a loud noise from the cabin makes them all look up.

"It's time," Barsad sighs, moving to pressed the code into the keypad and raising all of the cage bars.  Suddenly John immediately misses the metal poles that at least formed some sort of barrier between him and the hundred psychotic prisoners on board.  The six of them are led, still cuffed and shuffling, through into the main area of the ship.  Apart from Colby it seems strangely that the other five of them are probably those who had comprised the youngest of the crew.

The entire cabin has been completely smashed and destroyed.  From the carnage a strange sort of arena has been created, in the centre stands Bane, flanked by two other mean looking men.  John recognizes one of them as the blonde bearded, max security inmate.

"Brothers," Bane begins in a loud voice as Barsad gestures to the cops to make them halt their hampered movements.  "I give to you your entertainment," Bane continues as John's heart skips a beat.   Bane flicks his pale gray eyes lazily towards the cops and guards. 

"You don't need to do this," John hisses to Barsad, who's standing beside him.  "Whatever it is you've got planned for us, you don't _have_ to do this." 

"My brother has no choice," Barsad replies, uncharacteristically grim.  He turns to John with an expression that could almost resemble pity before he clicks his tongue and moves to drag Towsen forwards. 

"You can do with them what you will," Bane sighs uninterestedly, although his gaze falls momentarily on John.  The other man frowns slightly before looking away again. 

"Do you claim any of them for yourself?" one of the men asks, coming forward and turning on Bane with a curious expression.  His hair is black and spiky and there's a stained patch over his right eye.

"Kissing ass already Gambol?" another prisoner shouts with a laugh.

"Merely enquiring," the man called Gambol shrugs, "I wouldn't want to be the one who tried to touch something belonging to Bane."

Mutters and nods of agreement emanate from the rest of the men, even a few pointed looks are exchanged.  John still can't work out what level of authority Bane has over the other prisoners.   

"Bring me one," Bane tells Barsad, waving his hand casually as if he couldn't care less who is picked to become his personal 'entertainment'. 

John freezes as Barsad moves to walk past him, he's heading in the direction of Parker.  Suddenly there's a warm whisper in his ear and he realises that the other man has moved so as to talk to _him_.

"If I pick you little bird, understand that I am doing you a favour."

"Fuck you," John whispers back, although his voice cracks humiliatingly with exhaustion and fear.

"Look at the choices you have," Barsad hisses with an admonishing tutting sound.  "if you are Bane's, no one else will touch you." 

John can't help but wonder if Barsad is really giving him a choice in the matter when suddenly a hand is clamped tightly down on his shoulder.  "I have chosen for you brother, you honour me with the responsibility." 

Bane grunts in reply as John is pulled forwards and shoved towards the prisoners' masked leader.  John's shaking so much now that his wrists are bruising themselves repeatedly against the metal of his cuffs. 

"What about the old one?" someone cries out, "we meant to pickle him or something?"

"He was the senior guard onboard this transport ship and therefore is to be used for information," Bane replies firmly.  "Take him back to his cage." 

"What the hell are you doing Bane?" Colby croaks out, making everyone pause and turn to look at him.

"You're crazy if you think you can get away with this!"

"Then I'm crazy," Bane answers with a nonchalant tone of voice.

"Let these men be," Colby pleads, his posture sagging as if already accepting defeat, "they're just kids."

"And yet you put them in charge of a prison ship," Bane states unsympathetically before exhaling deeply.  The mask crackles with the sound and the rush of air.  "Every day they will be given a choice.  They can choose to remain on this ship, or they can leave."

"How can they leave?!" Colby demands frantically.  Bane raises a single eyebrow before pointing towards an airlock door. 

"You won't get away with this!" Colby shouts angrily, spluttering as he's yanked back down the corridor. 

"Blake..." Towsen whispers tentatively from behind John.  John doesn't turn around, he knows he should - just in case Towsen's miraculously somehow come up with an escape plan in the last five seconds.  But firstly, he doubts it, and secondly, he really can't bring himself to look at the asshole right now.         

Instead his eyes are fixed on Bane's grey ones.  He refuses to look away or back down as he's led to stand in front of the giant man.  His body might be trembling, but he's still determined to hold his own in front of the prisoners. 

Suddenly there's a sharp kick to the back of his legs, making John cry out in shocked pain.  He crumples knees-first into the metal walkway so that he's kneeling before Bane.  He can hear Barsad backing away and then Bane continuing to speak to the rest of the ship but the words are fuzzy and distant.  There's a pounding in John's ears and there's no way he can get up from this position with his cuffs still on without needing help.  Help comes surprisingly quickly as Bane stands up and reaches forwards to drag John upwards by the scruff of his neck.  The young officer is then pulled unceremoniously across the floor towards the rooms at the front of the ship.    


Bane enters what used to be the cops' bunk area, although now all the beds stand empty, most of them pushed into the walls to create space in the centre of the room for one large sleeping cot.  The room is still spinning as John feels himself being shoved roughly forwards, falling into the mess of blankets and a thin mattress.  At some point he must have been unshackled but he can't even remember it happening.  There's a sharp stab of humiliation as John realises in Bane's eyes, the cuffs probably make little difference as to whether he would consider John a threat or not. 

"What are you going to do?" John croaks quickly before Bane can make it back out of the door, leaving John alone. 

"With the ship or with you?" Bane replies, his voice is slow and controlled.  Such a confident certainty compared to John's trembling whispers.

"Both," John replies miserably, slumping forwards but making sure not to take his eyes off of Bane's.  Still holding his ground, still meeting his captor on his terms. 

"What are you going to do to the others?" John asks further, before Bane can answer. 

Bane sighs and shifts his stance, " _I_ am not going to do anything with the other captives."

"Fine, what are your _men_ going to do with them?" John spits, anger starting to take over his initial shock.  

"I'm sure they'll find some sequence of the order that amuses them," Bane replies.

John narrows his eyes in confusion before remembering  Mark's earlier taunt to Bane,

" _Killed...ate...fucked_ "

John tastes bile at the back of his throat.  "And me?" he asks, his eyes finally dropping to his own bruised hands.

"I never did much care for order," Bane rasps hoarsely.  Before John can even look up, the door is slammed decisively shut and he can hear talking outside and then the sound of heavy boots.  Bane's clearly assigned him a door guard.

John rolls over on the bed and drifts back into unconsciousness with the nagging painful pulls of his still present concussion. 

 

 

***

 

John is woken by the screams.  He sits bolt upright, reaching for his gun before he remembers where he is.  Bane is sitting across from him, studying some form of star chart.  He doesn't even bother looking up from the newly appeared desk before asking, "Sleep well little bird?"

"What the fuck are they doing to them?" John snaps, scrambling to get out of the bed and getting himself awkwardly twisted in the sheets that seem to have been wrapped tightly around him. 

"Nothing that concerns you," Bane replies, his voice taking on a more bored tone again.

"Fuck you it concerns me!" John shouts furiously, "I serve with those men!"

"Be thankful that you no longer _serve_ with them," Bane says drily, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. 

"Let me out of this room," John demands, attempting to make his voice as stable and commanding as possible.  He's not sure he's achieved the desired effect when Bane raises an incredulous eyebrow at him.

"And who are _you_ to give me orders Robin?"

John sucks in a sharp intake of breath, Bane's obviously looked at the ship's personnel files.  It's the only place where John's actual first name would be documented. 

"Fuck you," John manages again weakly. 

"That eager already?" Bane asks, his eyes narrowing as if he's smiling beneath the mask.  John's blood turns to ice.

"W-what?"

"Well," Bane shrugs, as if the huge rolling motion of his mountainous shoulders can even be compared to a shrug, "you're far too scrawny to eat and if I had wanted to kill you, I would have done so already." 

"They're going to catch up with you," John tries to shout but it comes out as more of a panicked yelp.  "the rest of the crew, and more cops and government forces - they're going to find you and anything you've done during your attempted escape -"

"Oh dear," Bane sighs, interrupting him, "will it be added to my sentence? Tell me Robin, how _do_ you extend a _life_ sentence?"

John swallows, his chest feels weighted and heavy, as if it's trying to sink through his stomach. 

"Don't tremble so hard little bird," Bane growls a moment later, looking up from the star chart.  "Like I said earlier, you have a choice.  The door is right over there."

"What? Out an airlock?" John barks, feeling his face flush with anger, "what kind of sick choice is that?"

"I do not believe that particular door is an airlock," Bane replies before nodding over to the exit that leads back into the main cabin.  Suddenly another round of shouts and screams goes up, followed by cheers.

_They're torturing them, for fun_.

"I'd be theirs...?" John asks with a swallow.

"You would no longer be mine," Bane nods, as if that answers the question.  John guesses it does, whereas the other captives had been given the choice of the men or death.  John has been given a further choice of Bane, the men or death. 

"Why did Barsad choose me for you?" John asks, feeling exhausted already, despite the relative brevity of the conversation.

"Barsad is far too sentimental a man," Bane says harshly, rising suddenly to his feet and making John cower back. 

"I can't read Ashkali," John says quickly, gesturing to the scrawls of military coded writing on the map that Bane has just walked forwards to place in front of him.  "I'm not a trained pilot or military, just a cop."

"I would have guessed as much little bird," Bane says with a trace of amusement, "luckily I _do_ read Ashkali."

John frowns and looks up, wondering if Bane is lying.  Only military personnel are trained to read the coded government script known as 'Ashkali'.  Teaching it to civilians is punishable by death and nigh on impossible as the language takes about five years of intensive full-time training to fully master anyway.  John wonders if some imprisoned soldier taught Bane whilst they were in the Pit together, it seems like the most obvious explanation. 

"Then why are you showing me this?" John asks, feeling confused. 

"I'm answering your first question," Bane says slowly, as if talking to a skittish child.  "What I am doing with the ship." 

John jerks his head down quickly to look at the star map, it's mostly gibberish to him, but he can work out that the area Bane was studying closest, depicts...

" _Gotham_?!" John exclaims in surprise, "you're trying to evade capture by taking us to one of the most populated and government heavy areas of controlled Colony space?!"

"I've answered your questions Robin, now you will be silent and let me work."

"No!" John shouts, feeling tricked, "I'm asking you a question right now, _why_ are we heading towards Gotham?"

Suddenly Bane shoots out his gigantic fist towards John's face, dipping at the last moment to encase his thick fingers around John's gulping neck.  The skin is squeezed and stretched painfully and John tries to control his panic as his air supply is cut off. 

"I said, you will be silent," Bane rumbles in a deep voice.  His eyes have lost all of their earlier indications of amusement or interest in placating John.   Almost too quickly to register, the hand is moved away again and John is left gasping and panting desperately on the bed.  He scratches aimlessly at the sheets with his fingernails as his windpipe slowly re-opens from where it had been crushed beneath Bane's terrifying strength.  John opens his mouth to curse at Bane with his new found breath but when he looks up the masked man is staring straight back at him, as if waiting for him to do exactly that.  John realises dejectedly that he'd probably do anything in order to not be choked again so instead, he rolls over awkwardly on the bed, facing the wall and closes his eyes tightly shut.     

 

***

 

A few hours later, John wakes up shivering and with chattering teeth.  "The fuck is wrong with the heating?" he gasps, sitting upright and misting the air in front of his face with his breath.

"It has been turned off to conserve fuel," a voice tells him from near the doorway, but it's not Bane's.

"Barsad?" John asks, peering over before the lights are switched on and the identity of the other person is confirmed.  "Where's Bane?"John asks, pulling a face at Barsad's responding curious expression.

"He is busy," Barsad answers before carrying the bowl he's holding over to John and placing it in front of him with a plastic spoon. 

"Soup?" John asks, eyeing the clearly stone cold and unappetizing meal.

"We have also turned off all appliances to save fuel," Barsad explains with an unapologetic shrug. 

"You still think you'll have enough to take you to Gotham without having to stop again?" John asks, picking up his spoon somewhat petulantly.  When he gets no response, he chances glancing up again.  Barsad is staring hard at him, and without his mask John can see that the other man's lips are pursed together thoughtfully.

"Bane told you," Barsad states, although it's not really a question.

"Are the other cops and guards okay?" John asks, huddling himself closer towards his knees for warmth. 

"One has already changed his choice," Barsad states emotionlessly, making John freeze with the spoon halfway to his mouth. 

"He..." John pauses, "he chose the airlock?"

"He made the right choice," Barsad shrugs apathetically, "you would have done the same by now." 

"I..." John trails off, wondering what he was even going to say,

_I should be out there, suffering the same?_

_I should be doing more to help, not just lying on a bed?_

_...don't leave me alone in here with Bane_.

The last one makes him look down at his knees in shame, how can he say he is afraid of Bane when he's in here sleeping, whilst the screams of the other men are happening outside?

Barsad creeps out of the room a few moments later.  John pushes his uneaten soup away before huddling further in on himself and reaching for the thin blankets.  There _has_ to be something he can do, some way of contacting the government or broadcasting their position to nearby ships.  John rises from the bed and pads across the ice cold floor, he's had his shoes removed already.  He guesses it makes his struggled kicks less of a danger and more of an inconvenience for his thick skinned captor.  The room is empty and sparse, no objects or appliances that might be of any use, certainly no radios.  John sighs, his breath steaming in misty puffs before he cranes his neck and stares up at the ceiling.  John gasps as he realises that there is an air vent panel screwed into the ceiling.  It's fixed in place and too high for him to reach unaided, but he knows if he moved the bed into the right position he'd probably be able to _just_ heave himself up...if he _somehow_ could get the hatch to open.  The screws look like they were simply twisted in rather than welded, a flat piece of metal could do the trick.  John turns around to see if he can scavenge something when the door suddenly swings open again. 

Bane strides in, the air around his mask is also foggy, making it look like the strange mechanical contraption is malfunctioning and letting out warning steam.

"Do you want all your men to freeze to death?" John spits viciously, trying to clamp down on his own very obvious shivers. 

"Are you worried about my men Officer?" Bane teases, grunting as he starts to shift himself out of the utility vest he's been wearing.  John's breath catches as Bane reveals his scarred and muscled torso underneath.  Bane's skin is a criss-crossed canvas of scar tissue and old wounds.  The most horrific of which, is probably the raised white calcified ridge running down his spine.  John can't even imagine what that was caused by.  It looks like Bane's entire back was ripped apart and then fused back together with a mound of melted skin. 

"W-wait," John orders, taking a step back from where Bane appears to be getting undressed.  "What are you doing?"

Bane pauses momentarily, looking at John with a raised eyebrow, "Do you sleep in your clothes Officer Blake?"

"It's night time?" John asks surprised, he honestly couldn't have even guessed what time of day it was.

"It is night when I say so," Bane replies imperiously.  "Both here in the blackness of space and in the darkness of the Pit - there is no day to be seen." 

"You're heading towards Gotham to hurt people aren't you?" John states glumly, thinking of the air hatch above him and the responsibility currently resting on his shoulders as the only cop on board with a chance of actually _doing_ something.

"The Fire must rise," Bane states in a twisted snarl, making John flinch. 

"What fire?" John asks in confusion, wondering if he really is dealing with a crazed madman here?

"Time for bed," Bane grunts dismissively, signalling that it's the end of John's allotted question time again.  He strides forwards and reaches down to hook his arms around John's hips, heaving the younger man up and flopping him over his shoulder like a rag doll.

"The _fuck_?" John swears, the air leaving his lungs in a heavy press of his chest against Bane's shoulder.  A second later Bane carelessly deposits John onto the cot.  "Get the hell away from me!" John snarls, scrambling back and baring his teeth like a feral cat. 

"Are you under the mistaken impression that I still follow your orders Little Officer Robin?" Bane asks with an distinctly unimpressed expression.

"I watched you kill good men," John hisses, not sure what point he's trying to make other than to convey to Bane just how much the other man disgusts him. 

" _Good_ men?" Bane responds, his voice lifting at the end of the question. 

"They were _innocent_!" John snaps.

"They were drunk and incompetent," Bane sighs wearily, moving closer to John who attempts to make himself even smaller, shrinking away from the half naked masked man. 

"Don't..." John whispers, it's not so much a warning as a plea.  He has no idea what Bane intends to do to him but whatever's coming, he's dreading it with every fibre of his being. 

"Still giving the orders little bird?" Bane asks, although his eyes are crinkled again, as if he's curved his scarred and bisected mouth up into a semblance of a smile.

Another strangled shout comes from outside as John flinches, drawing one of the blankets up around him and feeling pathetic, ashamed and angry all at the same time.  The sensation causes uncomfortable pin pricks of sweat to fizzle down his neck and back, despite the bone chilling cold that is permeating the room.

"Relax little Robin," Bane purrs, "You may leave, but I will not send you out there against your will,"

"Fuck you," John manages weakly, waiting for the innuendo laden retort that Bane will inevitably hand back to him.  But it doesn't come.  John opens his eyes to find Bane already lying down and stretched out on the bed, facing away from him. 

"You..." John trails off, unsure of how to phrase his question or even how to ask it. 

"Try anything against me and I will snap your neck like I did your fragile friend," Bane grumbles, clearly half asleep already.  "Just sleep Robin." 

John takes in a sharp intake of breath at the threat, forgetting to let it out again until after he's tentatively positioned himself behind Bane.  He doesn't want to admit it but without the other man's body heat so nearby, John would probably die that night.  Spaceships weren't designed not to be heated.  Space itself is freezing and all they have around them are metal and thin fabric sheets.  John knows there has to be some subsidiary heating systems on somewhere or they'd _all_ be dead by now.  But clearly all the main ones have been switched off in order to allow more fuel to be used in Bane's insane scheme to reach Gotham Planet. 

"If you are cold -" Bane begins.

"I'm fine," John snaps, tensing immediately for the reprimand that will surely follow. 

"Your fear is misplaced little bird," Bane sighs again, moving slightly so that the bed dips further, the angle pulling John in closer to the other man's massive form.

"A second ago you threatened to snap my neck," John hisses indignantly. 

"Only if you tried to incapacitate me in any way," Bane points out, as if John is failing to grasp a very simple concept here.

"How am I meant to entertain you?" John asks suddenly, the question's been building up inside of him in a twisted mix of morbid curiosity and bitter apprehension. 

"I doubt you could," Bane replies coldly.  "Go to sleep Officer Blake, or I will see to it that you fall unconscious again." 

Bane takes a low breath, an adulterated rasping sound through the mask before speaking again, "Be aware that if you leave this room, my men will expect me to have used you." 

John stiffens, not wanting to understand what Bane is trying to tell him. 

"Wouldn't that make them leave me alone?" John asks, wrapping his arms around his chest and feeling his uniform stick to him.

"Quite the opposite," Bane rumbles, "they would assume I was done with  you." 

John shivers and inadvertently slides a little closer to Bane's back.  It's just for the warmth he tells himself as the chattering of his teeth gradually slows down to the point where he's less worried about chipping one.

A few minutes later another scream goes up from outside the bunk room.  John's eyes flash open as Bane makes a grunting noise, seemingly discontent at having been disturbed again.  After that the ship goes eerily silent. 

It takes John a long time to fall asleep. 

 

 

 

But then he wakes up.    

 

     

 


	3. Chapter 3

John wakes up to the sensation of being crushed.  He starts to struggle and squirm before he even opens his eyes and receives a disgruntled huff in reply.  John looks up to find a still semi-sleeping Bane, now turned to face him and with his arms cocooning John's slender body in a warm embrace.  John kicks his leg out from under the blanket and immediately regrets it.  The air is even icier than it had been the previous night.  He is immediately torn between the instinct to struggle and the desire to burrow himself closer in towards Bane's heated chest. 

Thankfully he shrugs sleepiness off himself just in time to come to his senses and remember who Bane actually is. 

"Get off me!" John snaps with a vicious jab to the other man's ribs.

Bane moves quicker than John would have thought possible, considering he'd still been mostly asleep.  Within seconds John is pinned face down on the cot with his hands above his head and his hips caged in by Bane's massive thighs.  John can't breathe, his nose and mouth  are smashed against the crumpled blankets beneath them.  Immediately the panic sets in and he starts to buck and writhe violently.  Bane, however, remains still and immovable above him, only leaning forwards to grip John's wrists in a tighter vice-like grasp.  Eventually John runs out of energy and air, his heart thumping hard enough for him to feel the blood pulsing across his face.  He sinks, defeated and resigned into the bed, accepting that he survived suffocation all those years ago only to die from it now. 

It's right before he knows he's about to pass out when Bane finally shifts back, giving John just enough room to twist his head to the side and take deep lungfuls of air.  It's not until a few moments later that he gains the clarity to realise he's been crying.  It's always been an uncontrollable physical reaction of his to a lack of oxygen.  His nose and eyes start streaming and his throat clenches in shuddering hiccoughs that sound like sobs. 

"For someone so afraid of not being able to breathe, you certainly chose a strange job little bird," Bane muses in a thoughtful, low voice, "perhaps you did not realise that a police officer would spend so much time in space?"

John still can't find enough breath to answer the other man, so instead he presses his eyes tightly shut, squeezing out the last few drops of humiliating tears.  He jumps as he feels a cloth pressed against his face.  Thinking that Bane is attempting to smother him again, he writhes backwards.  The cloth follows him, rubbing at the tender skin beneath his eyes and then covering his nose, but not tightly enough to deprive him of air.  John realises with a chilling shudder that Bane is trying to wipe his face.  For some reason, the strangely out of place gesture seems far more sinister than Bane's massive weight currently pinning him down. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" John coughs out eventually, after roughly shoving the offered cloth away and opting to use his sleeve instead.  Bane doesn't answer, merely shifts off of the younger man and heaves himself out of the bed. 

"I thought you said you didn't want to kill me!" John exclaims before hacking hoarsely and regretting shunning the cloth as phlegm spits out into his already sour tasting mouth. 

"It was instinct," Bane tells him, as if John's being overly prissy about a simple issue. 

"Your instinct is to crush people?" John snaps, he can feel the colour finally returning to his face.

"My instinct is to deal with threats quickly and efficiently," Bane states as he moves to re-dress himself in his utility belt and vest.  "I was not properly awake and mistakenly perceived you to be a threat."

John bristles at the way that Bane outright dismisses the idea that he could actually pose a threat to the masked man's criminal operation.  Bane looks at him one more time before leaving the room.  As the door swings open John can also see the guard that Bane's evidently posted outside the room, it's the man with only one eye called Gambol.  He's holding a large heavy machine gun and there's a belt of ammo slung across his broad chest. 

 

 

***

 

Two hours later Barsad comes to collect him for the showers.  John hears the door opening and quickly jumps down from where he was attacking the air vent screws with a metal comb he'd found kicked under one of the beds.  John half wonders if he could try to use the comb as a weapon against Bane, but then he remembers the other man's strength from that morning.  He decides that escaping through the air vent and somehow making it to the cockpit is probably his best bet. 

"Bane says you need to wash," Barsad announces, sniffing the air pointedly.   "Also you may be more comfortable using the bathroom," Barsad gestures pointedly to the empty pot that John had been provided with and point blank had refused to use.   

Half of John wants to say no, wants to inflict his own foul smelling self on Bane as the prisoners had done to him.  But then again, his body is crying out for a shower, his muscles are sore and his skin is caked in grease and dried blood. 

John follows Barsad through the door and out past the back of the kitchen galley towards the communal bathrooms.  "It's currently empty," Barsad states, as if reading John's anxious mind.  John nods gratefully but pauses as they cross over towards the entrance.  He can now see out into the main cabin where the majority of the prisoners had originally been held.  The place is still destroyed and ransacked, only now there are bodies everywhere of sleeping men.  Perhaps not everybody is working on the same sleep schedule as Bane.  Some of the prisoners, however, are awake and eating.  Others are playing cards that they must have found in one of the guards' rooms.  John's eyes scan desperately for some sign of the other captives but he jumps when a familiar brutish face appears in front of him.  The man is short with a black mop of hair and a scarred neck.  His presence serves to make John tense stiffly.   

"So that's why we couldn't hear you screaming," Uri sneers, gesturing to where John realises he must have bruises across his throat from Bane gripping him last night. 

"Always thought the monster might be a choker," Uri declares triumphantly. 

"Watch your tongue," Barsad growls warningly, but makes no other move against the dark haired man. 

"You lost your voice completely?" Uri growls drawing nearer to John.

"Fuck you asshole," John snarls, his voice is croaked, but he still puts as much ferocity and contempt in as he can manage.  He's not sure but it looks like Barsad smirks quickly before reaching out to tug John's shoulder. 

"Let's go," Barsad instructs, "before everybody else wakes up."

"When you're mine, I won't try to shut you up," Uri growls, drawing even closer to John and catching his hand to prevent him from following Barsad.  "I want to hear you scream, such a pretty young thing..."

"Enough," Barsad snaps, making Uri release John's wrist like it's burned him.  Uri's eyes flit nervously towards Barsad for a moment before he abruptly nods and walks away.

"The other prisoners are scared of you?" John asks as he slides into the large empty bathroom behind Barsad.  The other man doesn't reply, instead he simply gestures for John to proceed into one of the showers.  There's already a towel and a bar of soap waiting for him.

"Are you...." John trails off as he sees the door closing behind him, Barsad's already left the room - probably to go and stand guard outside.  John had been going to ask if the other man was planning on remaining in the bathroom while he bathed.  As comparatively comfortable as John feels with Barsad he is still relieved for the extra privacy.  John strips off his soiled uniform, noticing that a fresh pair of sweats has also been placed underneath the towel. 

John curses as the cascading water fails to transition from cold to warm.  Evidently the water heating system was another one of the appliances that Bane considered expendable in the face of saving fuel.  At this rate John is pretty sure he's going to die of pneumonia before he can even figure out how to save the ship and subsequently prevent any harm from coming to Gotham.  

Half way through showering John freezes with his hands mid way through soaping up his hair.  He's _sure_ he just heard the door click open behind him.  His chest tightens with panic, hoping it's Barsad come to tell him he's been too long.  A horrified voice in the back of his mind, however keeps telling him it might be one of the men, perhaps even Uri, having found their way past his attending guard. 

"Are you not clean yet little bird?" a deep rumbling voice asks.  John feels himself sag with... _relief_? Some unidentified embarrassing emotion that melts his previously frozen muscles.  That's before he remembers that he's naked and particularly vulnerable right now.  John angles himself so he has his back firmly to Bane, but twists his head around to look at the larger man with a questioning glare.

"What do you want?" John asks tersely, half wishing he'd brought the metal comb with him. 

"The men want their showers," Bane states. 

"Barsad could have just come and got me," John sighs, reaching to wash the soap from his hair and letting the water sluice over his face. 

"I trusted him not to disturb you," Bane replies slowly, as if he's choosing his words carefully.  John fumbles as he stretches across the cubicle for his towel.  Before he can do anything about it a large hand has already grabbed it and is proffering it further towards him. 

John lets his instinctual 'thank you' die in his mouth as he swallows and turns to cant his hips away from Bane's piercing grey eyes. 

"What?" John hisses, flushing as he sees Bane's gaze slide smoothly down his body before John can hurriedly wrap the towel around himself. 

"Be thankful my brother chose you as mine," Bane answers, "the men would have killed each other to touch someone like you." 

John's breath catches in his throat at Bane's words.  He has no idea what to say in response to that, so instead he pulls a grimace of disgust before going to get changed behind one of the bathroom's tiled divides.

 

By the time Bane leads John back to the bunk room, John's teeth are already chattering uncomfortably.  In his rush to get dressed and spend as little time as possible naked in Bane's presence, John's not sure he dried himself properly.  The sweatpants and thin shirt are sticking uncomfortably to his still damp skin and although he doesn't actively _feel_ cold, he knows he must be. 

"Get in the bed," Bane instructs firmly, putting his hand on John's lower back and making him flinch as he guides the smaller man towards the cot. 

"I'll swap," John announces, suddenly stopping and turning decisively to Bane.  "I'll take the place of one the captives outside, the ones in the main cabin with your men." 

Bane's hand retracts slowly from John's back, his head cocking questioningly.  "I have already given you the choice to leave..." Bane begins, but John shakes his head vehemently. 

"No, it's a two way deal.  If I go out there, you let one the other cops or guards back in," John says.

"You would send another to me?" Banes asks, raising an eyebrow curiously. 

  "You..."John huffs and bites his lip, "you don't seem interested in _that_ and..."

Suddenly Bane is pressed up against John, bending him backwards and down into the cot that John hadn't realised they were already at the foot of. 

"You think me not _interested_?" Bane hisses, his voice sounds cold and angry.  "You think Barsad would fail in his choice to select a body that would please me?"

John yelps as Bane's fingers press against his chest, pushing him further down into the blankets before Bane climbs on top of him, effectively trapping John against the sheets. 

"Get off me!" John shouts, "fuck - stop!" he cries out as he tries to squirm out of reach of Bane's hand.  The other man is running his fingers down John's front, coming to rest just above the waistband of his sweatpants. 

"Would you even survive out there little bird?" Bane sighs as he hooks his thumb under the elastic and lifts it slightly.  John shuts his eyes and turns his face away and into the pillow, at least he won't have to _watch_ this.  At least he can try to imagine he's somewhere else, that the inevitable pain isn't being caused by...

"Robin," Bane whispers his name softly as John feels fingers grip his chin and turn his head back to face forwards.  "Open your eyes,"

John knows it's foolish to refuse but he still can't bring himself to look at the other man right now. 

"Open your eyes Officer and tell me who you would send in here to take your place right now?" as if to emphasise his point, Bane gives a lumbering roll of his hips, flattening John further into the bed and causing him crushing pain.  John cracks open his eyes to see Bane staring down at him in silence. 

"Say a name," Bane suddenly continues, almost casually, "and I will have Barsad go fetch them immediately to replace you.  Let's see if _they_ can interest me." 

"Fuck you," John tries to bark but it comes out as more of a whine.  He feels dominated and pathetic, not even worthy of the badge that Gordon gave him.  "I'm not sending someone else in here just so you can hurt them to make your sick point,"  

"Then you had best get into the bed before you freeze," Bane responds in a voice that does more to chill John than the ship's unheated air could ever do. 

A knock on the door serves to distract them both for a moment as Bane slips off of John with surprising grace and ease. 

"Enter," Bane grunts, sounding somewhat annoyed as Barsad pushes through the door, followed by a nervous looking Gambol. 

"The men are fighting," Barsad tells Bane in a measured tone of voice, his eyes flicking momentarily to John.  John quickly crawls backwards to make himself look like less of a flushed and dishevelled mess on the bed. 

"The men always fight," Bane huffs, narrowing his eyes as if to convey to Barsad that he does not want to be bothered by such information again.

"Samir says that Paulo broke his prize," Barsad continues, his eyes finding their way back to Bane and holding the other man's gaze confidently.  Barsad does not seem to harbour the same obvious fear of Bane as the other men. 

Bane makes a noise that sounds halfway between a curse and a snort.  A second later he's striding out of the room without so much as glancing back at John.  Barsad follows his leader, whilst Gambol stays loitering in the doorway for a few minutes, staring at John with his one eye, as one might an exotic animal in a zoo. 

"What's a prize?" John asks bluntly, finally deciding that if Gambol's going to hang around, John might as well try and get some questions answered.   Plus he remembers the other man stating that he'd never attempt to touch something that already belonged to Bane.  The thought is somewhat reassuring as Gambol strays further into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. 

"Curs," Gambol replies in his lilting accent that trips and stumbles over every word. 

"Curs..." John frowns before remembering the caged prisoners' conversation the other day.  He can taste vomit at the back of his mouth as he thinks about how the other guards and cops must be being used in the main cabin.  Suddenly Barsad's information takes on a new light.

"Wait!" John exclaims as Gambol is turning to leave, "what do you mean one of them is broken?!" 

Gambol shrugs and pulls a face, "gone out the airlock now, starting to stink up the place."

"Oh god..." John lifts himself up off the bed, he feels like he's going to be sick.

"I'm going to vomit," he announces promptly, making Gambol's open eye widen as he takes a step back into the room.  John wheels about quickly, trying to find the pot that Bane had left him but it appears to have been removed.  The swift movement serves only to make him all the more nauseous. 

John scrambles up as he feels his throat begin to constrict in a tell tale way.  "I need the bathroom!" he croaks out as he sprints past a stunned looking Gambol.

"Wait!"

John can hear the other man shouting as he speeds past and out into the corridor.  He's always been quick on his feet, a life of growing up in the Narrows does that to a person.  John makes it to the toilet just in time, retching into the bowl and leaning heavily against the flush.  "Fuck..." he mutters, screwing up his nose at the acidic aftertaste.  John still feels sick as he goes to splash cold water on his face, staring up at himself in the mirror with an assessing look.  He hasn't slept well and his skin has receded into a sickly greenish hue, made even starker by the choke hold of purple bruises he's sporting. 

Suddenly the door slams open and Gambol comes charging in looking near hysterical.  "We need to get you back before anyone sees you," he hisses desperately as John reaches for a towel and pats down his face roughly.

"Yeah, yeah," John sighs bitterly, "don't panic, you're not gonna get in trouble with your boss.  I just needed to puke my fucking guts out.  No big deal." 

Gambol shakes his head as if John is missing the point, "you can't be anywhere near the main cabin right now," he whispers as if trying not to be heard from outside of the bathroom.  "The men are angry," 

"So?" John shrugs petulantly.  He couldn't give a shit as to how the prisoners are feeling after they just _murdered_ one of John's colleagues, probably raped him to death.  It makes John want to vomit again just thinking about it. 

"You do not understand how this ship works," Gambol tuts, ushering John over impatiently.  "You think because you are Bane's toy that no one else will try to play with you?"

"I'm _no one's_ toy," John growls, he can feel himself bristling with humiliation and indignant anger. 

Gambol clicks his tongue, it sounds like his own equivalent of Bane's huff or Barsad's patented sigh. 

"Besides," John continues, "if Bane's not in control then why are you all following his orders?" 

"Bane is one of the strongest of us, it is true," Gambol nods, "he was widely feared back in the Pit."

"I can imagine," John replies grouchily as he makes to follow the still anxious looking Gambol out of the bathrooms and towards the kitchen passageway. 

"But we had no 'leader'," Gambol tells him with a pointed look as the bathroom door shuts behind them.   The corridor is echoing with shouts of foreign languages coming from the main cabin, the sentiments don't exactly sound pleasant.  "In the Pit, Bane commanded respect due to his size, strength and reputation.  But he mostly kept to himself, spending time with Barsad or an old priest he used to talk to." 

John frowns as he wonders about the exact nature of the relationship between Bane and Barsad.  He can't honestly imagine either one of them being the other one's 'cur'.   

"So why is he in charge on the ship?" John asks, confused.  He'd just assumed Bane had always been the pseudo 'king' of the other prisoners in the Pit.  For some reason finding out it's not quite like that makes him feel slightly nervous about walking back past the entrance to the main cabin.  Had John really been counting on Bane's position to protect him until he escaped? He stares angrily at the floor, feeling somewhat ashamed about the whole thing.

"Bane and Barsad can read the military code of Ashkali," Gambol tells John, making him pause as they walk down the echoing metal corridor.  John stops and turns to face the other man, "Barsad can read it too?" he chews his lip in thought, "but why would..." he trails off as it suddenly dawns on him.  Without someone who could read the military code then there would be no chance of the prisoners navigating their way through Colony controlled space.  They wouldn't be able to follow the star charts telling them when checkpoints were approaching or which areas to avoid if they didn't want to be stopped and searched.  Not only that but all the controls of the ship would also be in the artificially constructed language.  Without Bane and Barsad the escape would literally be an impossibility, or at least very short-lived. 

"Do the other prisoners even know where we're heading?" John asks urgently before another yell makes both him and Gambol whip their heads round.

"We need to get back," Gambol snaps, reaching out to shove John roughly.  "The men fear Bane enough to leave you alone when you are in his room.  But I do not know how deep their terror will truly run if you are dangled so temptingly in front of them.  They are running out of entertainment and the journey is a long one."     

John nods his understanding, despite feeling far from tempting right now.  He begins to quickly follow Gambol back to the room.  They manage to avoid anyone noticing them at the entrance to the main cabin by Gambol peering out first and signalling when it's clear for John to cross.  As they reach the bunk room doors John can already hear Bane's thundering footsteps approaching closely behind them.

" _Get inside_ ," Gambol hisses as he pushes John into the room and clicks the door shut behind him.  Evidently they're going to just pretend that the impromptu trip to the bathroom never happened.  John hopes that Bane doesn't get close enough to smell the sick on him.  

John manages to lie back down on the bed before Bane enters.  Even with the mask obscuring most of his face, John can still tell that the other man looks harassed.  Bane immediately crosses the room and sits himself down at his makeshift desk, pulling the piles of maps in front of him and studying them closely as if they hold the answers to his problems. 

John watches Bane quietly for a couple of hours.  Every so often the other man says a strange sounding word out loud before drumming his fingers against the desk repetitively.  It takes John a while to work out that Bane is counting, or at least working out some kind of number sequence. 

"We won't make it to Gotham without stopping for refuelling," John states, breaking the silence and hoping he's hit the mark.

Bane's shoulders tense as he slowly looks up at John.  His face is schooled into an expression of mild surprise, as if he'd completely forgotten that the other man was present in the room. 

"If you're trying to figure out how many more days you need to keep a ship full of criminals and psychopaths under control that is," John shrugs.

"Because you'd know all about keeping a ship full of criminals and psychopaths under control wouldn't you Officer Blake?" Bane asks in a twisted tone, his voice emphasising the word 'Officer' and causing John to scowl. 

"It wasn't my idea for the guards to get drunk," John snaps before immediately regretting it as Bane stands up.  The other man's massive frame dwarfs the desk as Bane reaches forwards to order the papers back into a neat pile. 

"Who?" John swallows, hoping to change the subject as Bane pauses and raises his eyebrows at him.

"Who was killed?" John continues, "when Barsad said someone's ' _prize_ ' was broken..."

"You think I bothered learning their names?" Bane replies coldly as he begins to unbuckle his broad belt and undo the hooks on his vest. 

"Just...just tell me how many are still alive then?" John mutters, gnawing anxiously at the inside of his cheek, half desperate for and half dreading the answer.

"A few," Bane tells him as the large man's body armour falls to the floor with a loud thud. 

 _Three_.  John thinks as a chill shivers down his spine and he's forced to crawl further under the blankets.

"Is that including me?" John asks, scooting over to as far to one side of the bed as possible whilst Bane lies down on the other. 

"Do you think I include you with them?" Bane replies cryptically, making John huff in frustration and flop his head back against the pillow.

"It's not night time yet," John states, "I've been counting the hours,"

"This day has been long enough," Bane replies with finality.

"I'm not sleepy yet," John tells the other man, rubbing a hand irritably down his own face.

There's a moment's silence when John thinks Bane's already fallen asleep before he speaks again, "How old are you little Robin?"

John growls angrily, he's not an idiot, he knows what Bane's implying.  "Old enough to be a cop," he retorts, "how old are _you_?"

"Old enough to be a prisoner," Bane replies without missing a beat. 

"And what's that meant to mean?" John sighs, he feels irritated and there's still pent up adrenalin coursing through his veins close to his tingling skin.  He knows that baiting his captor into an argument probably isn't the best approach to the situation, but he's far past caring.

"It means I am older than you.  Old enough to have realised the truth," Bane replies. 

Bane refuses to talk again after that, even when John twists and turns in the bed with probably a lot more force than is necessary.  He feels like a kid again, unable to help those around him and angry because of it.       

By the time his mind carries him finally off to sleep, John's body is wracked with exhaustion and welcomes the relief of darkness washing over him in a blanket of slumber.

 

 

But then he wakes up. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

"What are you going to do to Gotham?" John asks, lifting his head up from where he's been pressing his knees into his eye sockets.  He'd woken up with a headache and it still hasn't shown the decency of subsiding.

Bane is over on the other side of the room, he's studying his stupid star charts again and is already washed and dressed, clearly having gotten up earlier than John. 

"This ship doesn't have any external weapons," John adds, "you'll just get blown out of the sky if you try anything." 

"The Colony Government headquarters are on Gotham," Bane replies without bothering to look up.  "And I will have my weapon," 

"How?" John frowns, crawling over the bed to draw closer to the man sitting at his desk. 

"There is a bomb onboard this ship," Bane tells John matter of factly before stretching up his arms and cracking his neck. 

"W-what?" John stammers, "no, this is just a prison transport ship,"

"That is precisely why I know there is a bomb onboard," Bane sighs, finally looking up and meeting John's eyes. 

"You're lying, or just fucking crazy!" John exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"I can assure you I am neither," Bane replies icily.  "Every prison transport ship is fitted with a large scale explosive device.  I believe it is powerful enough to take out an entire fleet if detonated."

"Bullshit," John mutters, there's no way they'd be carrying a bomb onboard a passenger ship." 

"Depends on the passengers," Bane shrugs, "the military install every prison ship with a remote controlled bomb so they can detonate it if needs be."

"They'd never do that," John huffs, wrapping his arms around his legs and tugging his knees closer to his chest.

"Why not?" Banes asks curiously.  "Because there are _innocent_ cops and guards onboard? Because it violates the Colonies' official human rights act?"

"Yes!" John cries, frustrated as Bane starts to chuckle, although the sound comes out harsh and distorted through the mask.     

"Don't be a fool little Robin," Bane sighs, "the bombs are installed in case anything like this should happen.  Government employees like you are expendable, prisoners are expendable."

"Then why didn't we blow up?" John demands, shuffling forwards so he's perched on the end of the bed.  "If there was a bomb on board then we would all be dead by now - they know the ship's been compromised." 

"Oh the order came through," Bane replies, "a clear coded command for the bomb to destroy this ship and everyone on it."

"So why aren't we dead?" John huffs.

"Because I delayed the countdown," Bane states before rising up and walking over to where John is sitting.  "they don't expect prisoners to be able to read Ashkali I suppose...their mistake."

"You're lying," John murmurs, yelping as the next thing he knows he's being hauled roughly to his feet.  He stares into Bane's piercing grey eyes as the other man grips his upper arms tight enough to leave fingerprint shaped bruises across the flesh. 

"You think I _care_ if you believe me?" Bane hisses, "I do not owe you an explanation for my actions Officer Blake, I do not owe you any words at all." 

"If there's a bomb what are you going to do with it?" John coughs as Bane gives him another rough shake.  "You won't be able to target the government buildings," he adds, "there's no way of dropping the bomb or firing it, we don't have any launchers."

"We _are_ the launcher," Bane growls in a voice so low John almost misses the words.  His heart skips a beat in his chest, making his eyes widen and his mouth drop open.

"Y-you're not trying to escape at all - this is a suicide mission!"

Bane grunts in a non committal way before giving John another shove and backing away.

"What's wrong with you?!" John yells, "do the men know that none of them are getting out of this alive? Does Barsad know?!"

"Barsad is my brother," Bane says sternly, "I would not keep things from him.  As for the men, why are you so suddenly concerned for their well-being? They are rapists are murderers as far as you're concerned." 

"And what are you?!" Johns shouts, he feels near hysterical.  "You're going to kill us all just for the sake of harming the government?" 

"The Fire rises..." Bane begins before John lets out a derisive snort.

"What fire?! You're fucking crazy.  So you destroy the government buildings and take out half of the capital city - what then?" 

"I will be dead," Bane states bluntly, as if John's really being quite obtuse not to fully understand the concept here. 

"why the hell am I here Bane?" John groans, sagging down despondently to the bed.  "Why didn't you just put all of us out an airlock if you mean to kill us all in the end anyway?"

"It was my intention to do so," Bane replies, making John flinch and glare up at the larger man.

"It would have been a far kinder fate," Bane continues, "but the men demanded that they be allowed to retain the most...suitable...of you." 

John shudders as he remembers how, apart from Colby, the only cops and guards left alive had been the youngest of the onboard crew.

"You're going to kill civilians as well," John croaks, feeling nauseous again.  "Is your hatred of the government really worth that?"

He doesn't know why he's trying to reason with someone who was probably already in prison for murder as it is. 

"If the corruption of Gotham is allowed to continue then millions more will die anyway," Bane growls. 

"You don't know what you're talking about!" John shouts, taking a sharp intake of breath and freezing as Bane lifts the back of his hand and brings it down with a violent force. 

John cracks open his eyes, wondering if he can't feel any pain because Bane's blow knocked his head straight off of his neck? He swallows tensely before turning fractionally to see Bane's hand hovering in mid air about an inch from his face.  Bane's chest is rising and falling in crashing tides of evident fury, his eyes are boring a hole through John's skull.  The noises coming from his mask sound inhuman, like a giant ageing machine spluttering cogs and bolts in desperate exhalations. 

"No, little Robin," Bane finally whispers, drawing his hand across the minute gap so his knuckles lightly graze and brush down the soft skin of John's cheek.  "I'm afraid out of the two of us, it is _you_ that does not know what he is talking about." 

Bane's hand flips over so that the rough pads of his fingers are trailing across John's skin, tracing his jaw down to his chin and then back up to lips.  John can't help the gasp that escapes him as Bane's thumb rests gently on his lower lip, pulling it down ever so slightly so John knows his teeth are on show. 

"Will you choose the airlock now Officer Blake?" Bane sighs, withdrawing his hand so quickly that John wouldn't have even been sure it was ever there.  The only evidence coming from the tingling sensation left fizzling across his mouth.  "Now that you know you are going to die anyway? Will you choose to escape from this monster sooner?" 

"I'm not going to take the easy way out," John snaps as soon as he comes back to his senses, biting down on his lip so that he can taste blood instead of the salt of Bane's skin.  "I'm not going to abandon the men still onboard this ship, nor am I going to leave the people of Gotham to their fate." 

"And how do you instead to stop me little bird?" Bane asks, but rather than angry or annoyed he just sounds mildly curious. 

"I've got time to figure that out," John grits, shuffling back on the bed so he's further away from the ghost of Bane's touch.  "There's still at least five days before we reach Gotham planet."

"Been doing some calculations of your own Robin?" Bane asks, looking less furious than he had done only moments ago.  Instead, his eyes are crinkled as if he's half smiling. 

"I know how long it took to get from Gotham to the Pit," John huffs, "and I know roughly where the last refuelling station was." 

John pauses and sucks in his breath, wary of angering Bane again.  "So...if the men really knew what  you were planning to do with the ship?"

"Are you planning on telling them Officer Blake?" Bane asks in a measured voice.  "I can assure you that such a move would not end well for you, regardless of whatever happened to me." 

Bane turns around and moves towards the door, pausing as he reaches for the handle, "Do not be a fool Robin, you are safe in this room." 

"Until you blow us all up!" John spits before the door opens and slams shut again. 

John groans as he flops back onto the bed, still shivering from adrenalin and the biting cold.  That must also be why Bane's so desperate to get to Gotham before they run out of fuel - otherwise the bomb won't go off in the right place.    

" _You are safe in this room_ "

 John snorts and shakes his head before pulling the blanket back up over him.  Yeah right - _safe_.  That's why he's nearly been strangled, crushed and almost-decapitated.  That's why he's covered in bruises...

A small voice in John's head however whispers pointedly to him, " _You could be out there - in the main cabin.  Bane's barely touched you.  At least you're not screaming every night_." 

John shivers, feeling disgusted with himself he decides to do something pro-active towards taking back the ship or at least alerting the authorities to their position.  If Bane's right and there really is a bomb onboard then at least the government will detonate it away from any civilian planets and in the relative emptiness of space. 

It doesn't John long to locate his comb from the last time when he stashed it to keep Bane from noticing the makeshift screwdriver.  Moving the bed back and forth every time is a little more gruelling as there are ridges on the bunkroom floor designed to try and keep each cot in place.  When the room had been completely redesigned, the prisoners must have done it en masse.  John pants as he lowers one end of the heavy frame back down right underneath the air vent.  He's already managed to loosen some of the screws and should be able to get the damned thing fully open today so long as no one comes in to disturb him.  He doubts that Bane expects John to shower every day, especially considering that the water system probably takes up precious fuel. 

John swears and curses at the air vent hatch for the next forty minutes.  The teeth of the metal comb have repeatedly punctured the pads of his fingers or scratched down his nails, splitting them at the tips and resulting in painfully exposed areas of sensitive flesh.  Eventually however, he manages to wrench down the last screw with one final grunt of exertion.  It's in this final wrench that the comb clean snaps in half, several of the teeth shattering and falling to the floor like metal raindrops.  John curses under his breath before anxiously eyeing the door for any sign of Gambol or Barsad.  Thankfully it doesn't seem like anybody heard him as the door remains closed and the corridor sounds quiet.  John wonders if he's even being guarded anymore? The thought that he might not be somehow unsettles him. 

He reaches up gingerly with aching arms and pushes lightly then more firmly in the centre of the hatch panel.  The dust covered slats coat his hand in a geometric imprint of red marks as he builds up the pressure until there's a loud pop.  John flinches before continuing to nimbly and carefully manoeuvre  the panel up and into the ventilation shaft.  A puff of even colder air comes channelling through the newly exposed hole, biting and nipping at John's face.  He reaches tentatively up only to slice the palm of his hand on a cut metal edge of panelling.

"Fuck!" John yelps, nearly losing his balance and slipping down on the bed.  He groans, before eyeing the crumpled sheet beneath him.  Five minutes later and John's managed to fashion protective bandages, tightly wrapped around his hands as he hauls himself up into the tunnel above.  The shaft is claustrophobically cramped and freezing, but it's still got enough wriggle room for John to squirm his way forwards or backwards if needs be.  He's _pretty_ sure he's going the right way in order to eventually reach the cockpit.  When he gets there, hopefully he'll be able to incapacitate whoever Bane's employed as a pilot.  Other than that, there's a lock on the cockpit door, so if John can just barricade himself in there for long enough to get a signal out, or to even purposefully crash the craft - he'll have potentially saved millions of lives.

The ventilation tunnel clearly wasn't designed with crawling cops in mind as the panels feel flimsy and flexible beneath his elbows and knees.  There are ominous creaks and twangs as the metal bends and dips around him.  After a few near misses John thinks he's worked out that every other panel is slightly more stable than the ones in between.  As a result he ends up sliding on his belly so as to spread the weight between them rather than having a small point of pressure on a potentially non-load bearing surface. 

Every so often he can hear noises from the ship around him, occasionally shouts or yells from beneath him.  This makes John freeze and consider turning back before he schools himself to shut the hell up and grow a pair.  It can't be far now until the cockpit, so long as the plans of the ship left on Bane's desk were correct.  John might not have been able to read the labels and notes but he could look at the diagrams and figure it out from that.  Right now he knows he should be somewhere above the kitchen area and approaching the second bunk room that used to belong to the guards. 

John can definitely hear the voices of men below as he slithers across the thin sheets of metal buried in the ceiling.  They're not speaking in a language that John understands, not that he speaks any languages other than his own.  It doesn't sound like there's more than a few of them in the guards' room as he traverses the tunnel. 

Suddenly the panel that John's just moved onto gives way.  With a loud whipping crack of metal crashing down, John finds himself falling hard onto the floor below.  For a moment he thinks he can't possibly have survived the fall, that he must have impaled himself on one of the jagged plates or a cot frame post.  However, the pain then sets in far too sharply for it to be serious.  John groans as he cracks open his eyes and rolls his spine so he's sitting upright, away from the debris covered floor.

"What the fuck?!"

The voice makes him freeze before slowly turning round.  Sure enough, John was right about the ship schematics.  Just a _little_ bit further and he would have been directly above the cockpit, but as it is he's landed smack bang in the middle of the guards' bunk room.  He counts five gnarly looking men sat on stools, cards in their hands and all of them are staring at him.  Dread only further pools in John's stomach when he spots Uri's unpleasant form nestled amongst the others.

"Fuck," John swears before leaping to his feet, all stabs of pain or injury momentarily forgotten as he races for the door.  A loud roar goes up from behind him as John reaches his target and wraps his fingers around the handle only to be violently wrenched back and slammed down to the floor again. 

"Not so fast sweetheart," a man whispers, his warm breath sickeningly close to John's face.  John whimpers in pain as he feels a boot press against his back where he must have lacerated himself when falling through the ceiling.  John uses all his strength to jerk round unexpectedly and lash out with the half of the comb he was still carrying. 

"Fucking little bitch!" another voice curses as John feels the metal teeth rip through flesh.  The shock and commotion gives John just enough time to wriggle free of their grip as he sprints over to the other side of the room.  He reaches the wall and turns around snarling, like a hopelessly cornered animal. 

"It's the monster's cur," someone grunts, taking a step forwards.  John recognizes him as the blonde bearded max security prisoner that hadn't sounded overly friendly with Bane to begin with.  He also happens to be bleeding from his neck, clearly he's the one John caught with the comb. 

"Reckon Bane got bored of him?" another one pipes up.

"Yeah, that's why he was smuggling out through the ventilation shaft like a dirty rat," The blonde man snorts, "Bane's probably got no clue where he is,"

"We've run out of curs," Uri spits, taking a threatening step towards John who shakes with the realisation of what's about to happen.  John knows he's strong for his size, knows he's trained and would subsequently stand a pretty good chance against maybe two of these guys.  But there's five prisoners currently standing between him and the door and there's no other way out of the room.  He can't jump back into the gaping mouth of the ventilation shaft without a boost and he doubts anyone is going to be so helpful as to give him a leg up.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" John shouts, slamming himself further back against the wall and wondering how far he'll get if he launches himself at them.  As the men start to approach, every single one of them is wearing a menacing or equally lecherous expression.   John finally realises one very clear thing.

He needs to get to Bane. 

Right now Bane is his best hope of staying alive, of not being raped and of still managing to save the ship and Gotham, despite it being Bane that seeks to destroy it. 

John scans wildly around the room, looking for something that he might be able to defend himself with, at least for long enough until he reaches the door and can get out of the guards' room. 

"I call first," Uri sneers.

"Fuck that," the blonde man growls.

"Does it even matter?" another ex-prisoner laughs nastily, "he's been used by _Bane_ for Christ's sakes, he'll be looser than a gas station whore.  He could probably take both of you at the same time."

John tries to swallow his nerves but fails and ends up choking on the lump of fear in his throat.  These guys aren't messing around and he's quickly running out of options.

"Grab it before it squeals and gets the whole fucking ship in here," Uri orders, advancing on John like a predator stalking prey.  John darts forward but he's not quick enough and strong arms tackle him from all sides, slamming him down against the floor.  He screams in pain as his right shoulder catches the corner of a cot.  Sticky warmth starts to drip down his arm as he distantly notices that he's bleeding.

Suddenly the sound of tearing fabric jerks John back to the desperate urgency of his immediate reality.  Uri's breath is on the back of his neck, the other man's knees digging into his spine.  John knows it's Uri as a second later the man leans forward and licks a wide sticky stripe up the side of John's neck, whispering in his ear,

"Knew you'd taste good pet," 

"We're running out of food," another man grunts as if corroborating the sentiment.  The other men laugh as they all seem to be getting on board with the idea of actually _eating_ John.  Right now though, John thinks that being roasted might be preferable to being spit roasted.  His mouth feels dry as he tries to call out for help, desperately hoping that Barsad might hear him. 

"Shut him up!" someone barks, "put something in his mouth!"

"Oh I've got something for him..." Uri growls as John is wrenched painfully back so his spin is arched inwards and he's staring up into the sweaty gleaming face of the blonde bearded prisoner.  There's another rip and John can feel his leg is now exposed to the cold tight air of the bunk room.  Suddenly a bundle of cloth, presumably that used to form part of his sweatpants is tied around his face, slipping into his mouth but still wide enough to cover his nose.  John tries to shout in protest but the gag is drawn tighter and he can feel himself not being able to breathe.

 _No no no no_ he screams inside his head, _not like this_.

Another weight presses on his thighs and it's not until he's abruptly stilled that John realises he'd been thrashing so violently.  The energy and terror inside of him seems to build up into a giant ball with nowhere to go, no limb is left free to move.  He sobs as he feels the waistband of his pants slide roughly over his ass and get tugged down to his knees.  He wonders what they'll do if he vomits? If they'll even stop for a moment? Or will they just carry on while he chokes?

The grip on the gag loosens as the hands are instead used to undress him further, palms slap at his skin whilst fingers scrabble at the scraps he's still wearing.  John coughs out as hard as he can, dislodging the strip of cloth from his mouth so he can push it further away with his tongue.  Raw oxygen filters into his spasming chest and fills his lungs.

Someone's finger brushes his cheek and John turns to bite it as hard as he can.  However instead of flesh and blood he tastes plastic and copper wire.  John realises that the touch had been from an overhanging wire, obviously dislodged when part of the ceiling had come down.  He strains his neck, grunting with pain as he struggles to look up.  The men and him are situated nearly directly beneath where John had fallen through the ventilation shaft, there are panels hanging precariously above them, threatening to fall at any moment. 

"This will hurt," Uri snarls into John's ear as his head is flattened back down to the floor, causing him to see stars.  "but you're going to take it like a good boy," Uri finishes as he rakes his fingernails across John's scalp, hard enough to cause pain and make fresh tears to spring from John's eyes.  He tries to struggle free again when someone drags him back up by the scruff of his neck.  There's no one sat in front of him now, they're all behind him, holding him down and any second now, they're going to take him by force. 

The wire brushes past John's nose again before he makes a snap decision and lurches forwards, catching it in his teeth and ducking his own head back down with enough force to nearly knock himself out.  Sure enough there's a sudden downpour of electrical boards and metal panelling as the wire dislodges the rest of the damage caused by John's falling through the ceiling. 

"Fucking hell!" John hears someone swear as all of them are momentarily encased in a storm of dust and debris.  The hands pinning him down fall lax or move away completely, allowing John to edge his way forward, his path slicked by his own blood.  By the time he's reached the door and hauled himself up he doesn't even turn round to see if they're following him.  Instead he barrels out into the corridor, not caring that he's half naked and looks like he just went several rounds in boxing ring.          

John staggers as fast as he can along the hallway.  A few of the prisoners let out cries of surprise as they notice him but they must be too confused by his appearance to be quick enough to try and stop him.  John keeps heading towards the crew meeting room that he's sure Bane is currently in, along with Barsad.  He doesn't even aim for his bunk room, not trusting Gambol to be able to protect him right now.  Thankfully it doesn't feel like John's legs were badly injured in the fall or the subsequent attack as he's still quick on his feet.  There's no one stood outside the conference room so John can charge straight in, crashing to his knees with a strangled yelp of exhaustion.  He looks up desperately to see Barsad and then Bane, the other two men have jumped to their feet from where they were sat around a table with several other prisoners that John recognizes from the cages. 

"Robin?" for the first time ever, Bane's voice sounds uncertain and shaken. 

"Bane..." John croaks back imploringly as the door behind him is yanked open causing Bane to emit a terrifying roar of wild fury.  Bane charges forward, spraying metal chairs in his wake as he descends on the newly entered men, one of whom John can now see is Uri.  Hands grip John's shoulders, pulling him forward.  He thrashes and struggles before he realises it's Barsad, guiding John under the table.  John cowers in between the other pairs of legs of Bane's seconds in command.  He shivers and flinches as there's sickening crunch after sickening crunch and bodies hit the floor.  John's attackers were already injured from the ceiling collapse and from John's best efforts to keep them off of him, so they are absolutely no match for Bane and Barsad.  The other men in the meeting room don't even have to come to their leader's aid as the last of the attackers crumples to the floor.  Uri's lifeless face is twisted into a horrible expression, the skin is stretched and hooked over bones it shouldn't be, as if someone's yanked his head nearly clean off of his shoulders.  The final blow is delivered as Bane's boot comes smashing down, plunging Uri's nose back into his head and caving his face in into a grisly bowl of blood and shattered bone. 

John swallows back vomit as the bodies are nudged systematically back out into the main cabin.  A few minutes later John can see Bane's boots re-entering the meeting room, leaving the door open behind him. 

"Leave us," Bane growls in a low, commanding voice.  For one horrifying, desperate moment, John thinks that Bane is talking to him.  But then there's the sound of chairs scraping the floor and the thud of the room's occupants exiting via the main doors.  A moment later John can hear Barsad saying something to Bane in a strange lilting accent.  Bane replies with a series of grunts before Barsad too leaves the room, closing the door behind him.  Bane's boots start to pace forwards and John instinctively scoots backwards, cowering further under the table where he feels most sheltered and hidden.                    

However, instead of reaching under the table for him, Bane slowly pulls out a chair and sits down so that his legs are spread out underneath the table's surface.  John waits for a few moments, but when it becomes clear that Bane isn't going to move any further, he shuffles towards Bane, encasing himself between the other man's legs.  John slumps against one of Bane's calves as Bane finally shifts so that John can find a more comfortable position to sit in.  They stay like that for what seems like an eternity, in complete silence in the empty room.  John sat between Bane's legs under the table, neither of them can see the other's face.  John knows that Bane can't see him at all what with the table in the way.  He wonders why Bane hasn't said anything or tried to take him back to the bunk room yet.  A few minutes later John notices Bane's hand sliding under the table.  He grunts and rocks backwards slightly, not sure what to expect.  Bane's hand freezes, hovering over his knee before continuing again slowly when John makes no further noise of alarm. 

That's when John realises that Bane is treating him like a spooked animal, with small, trust building movements.  John sinks further against Bane's thigh as the other man's fingers gently reach the side of John's head and begin to stroke him lightly and soothingly.  It's in this comforting silence and position of safety that John really begins to cry.  Rancid sounding choked sobs bubble up from his throat and horrible whines come spluttering out along with snot and tears.  Still Bane doesn't say anything, he only continues to pet and stroke John's head in gentle motions, never straying onto the bare skin of John's face or neck.  John's not sure how long he cries for before he realises that he can't seem to get enough air in his lungs.  He coughs and chokes out the single word,

" _Bane_..."

As if on cue, Bane slips down from the chair, pulling his legs back in a smooth motion that serves to bring John into his waiting arms.  Bane scoops him up and lifts him out from underneath the table, cradling him to his chest as he stands back up and marches towards the doors. 

John squirms in the other man's arms, terrified of not being able to draw breath. 

"Shh," Bane says quietly as John looks up and sees that they are already out in the corridor walking back to the bunk room.  He has no idea where the other prisoners are, but clearly they're giving Bane a wide berth after the violent display earlier.  "Find your air little bird," Bane says softly as they cross the kitchen galley. 

"Can't...breathe..." John croaks hoarsely as he scrambles to sit further up in Bane's arms.  He hisses with the pain from his shoulder where he smashed it again the cot earlier.  John closes his eyes tightly, trying to concentrate on taking long, deep breaths.  But it's no good, the deeper he breathes, the less air he feels that he's getting.

Suddenly John feels himself being lowered down onto what he assumes is the bed.  He looks up when he hears the bunk room door closing and Bane is quickly crossing over to him again.  Kneeling down in front of John before reaching back behind his own head and beginning to fiddle with buckles.  John frowns as he gasps like a beached fish, he doesn't understand what Bane is doing. 

Bane's mask comes away with a steady hiss, revealing his pinpricked and scarred face looking more ashen than John's ever seen it.  Bane crouches down further, concentrating on rearranging the more delicate parts of the mask, so the pins, that presumably supply some form of drug, are retracted.  After having finished his task, Bane leans forward to suddenly press the giant mask against John's face.  John struggles for a moment, jumping backwards in surprise as the wide contraption seems to swallow his mouth and nose whole.  However, he stills a moment later as Bane presses softly on his shoulder, as if he's reassuring him.  John inhales deeply and is hit by the heavy heady scent of Bane, the other man's musk is deeply entrenched in the mask.  Bane keeps the mask pressed against John's face as John starts to calm, listening to his own rasping, rattling breaths and steadying himself to their rhythm.     

After a few more minutes Bane leans further forwards, half pressing his bare face against John's masked one as he does the straps up and tightens them at the back.  The mask is now firmly fixed to John. 

"Breathe little bird," Bane sighs emotionlessly as he moves to get up from where he's been squatting on the floor.  It's strange seeing Bane without his mask, it makes him look oddly vulnerable and human, not like a monster at all.  John's about to ask if Bane needs it back when the other man turns to push him down gently on the bed and covers him with a blanket. 

"Bane..." John whispers as he feels the other man move away.  He jumps at the sound of his own voice so distorted through the mask, he sounds frightening - even to himself. 

Quickly, Bane is by his side again and a hand starts stroking through his hair once more.  Considering everything that's happened that day John honestly can't remember the last time he felt so guarded, so safe.  As he falls asleep, part of him hopes that he'll stay unconscious, that he'll just remain in this bed forever, with no masked captor, no prisoners and no bomb.

 

But then he wakes up.    


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing John hears when he wakes up is a pained sounding grunt.  He cracks open his eyes, panicking momentarily as he registers the strange weight on his face.  His hand flies up to make contact with the mask when he remembers everything that transpired the day before.  He inhales deeply, trying to wish his nausea away before gingerly sitting up in the bed.  His bruises are killing him and every single muscle in his body feels stiff and sore. 

After a few moments of his senses adjusting, John becomes aware that there's still another presence in the room.  Sure enough, a second later there's another hoarse grunt from behind him.  John swivels round to see Bane hunched over in the corner of the room.  The large man is physically shaking and as he raises his head, John gasps at his appearance.  Bane's face is a sickly greenish yellow, his eyes look sunken and dulled.  There are dark shadows under his eyes and his lips are cracked and blue.  The veins on Bane's neck look like they're standing out more than usual, as if someone's traced felt tip cobwebs across his translucent skin. 

"Fuck - Bane!" John shouts, his voice crackling through the mask's grill.  John jumps down off of the bed, hissing as the impact ricochets through his bones.  John runs over to Bane as quickly as he can and scrambles to unbuckle the mask that Bane must have left on him for most of the night. 

"Why didn't you take it back?!" John mutters angrily as he clumsily replaces the mask around Bane's exhausted and clearly pained face.  He slots his thumb through one of the compartments, releasing the drug needles that sink their way back into the tender blood freckled flesh around Bane's plump but disfigured lips. 

Bane takes a deep rattling breath before groaning and resting his head back against the wall.  They stay this way for about five minutes until Bane slowly raises himself to his feet.  John wonders just how much pain he had been in during the hours without the mask? How much of a struggle had it been to breathe?

Bane walks slowly towards the desk, pausing before he sits down, "If you had wanted to stop me and my bomb Robin, that would have been the time to do it."

John opens his mouth to retort before wordlessly closing it again.  He has nothing to say, the shock of what he's done crashes through him.  He just saved the one man he's desperately been trying to stop.  Because of John the ship will now continue unhindered on its way to Gotham.

"I..." John trails off before standing up angrily.  "Fuck you! You know there's no chance of me being able to do anything.  Even if I'd taken the chance and killed you, I'd still have to deal with the hundred or so other prisoners outside." 

"Ah.." Bane sighs, almost sadly, "you've finally realised that I'm actually your safest bet have you?"

John huffs a mirthless laugh, "I wouldn't exactly call you 'safe' Bane." 

"And yet I have not tried to do to you what those men did," Bane replies quietly, making John tense and harden.

"What?" John spits, walking over towards Bane, feeling braver than he has before, spurred on by indignant anger, "you want a medal for not trying to _rape_ me?"

"Do you think you could fight me off little Robin?" Bane asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly at John.  His face doesn't look amused though, just pale and sad. 

John swallows bitterly before flushing and staring at the floor, "You know damn well I couldn't.  But that doesn't make you a good person Bane - you were a prisoner for a reason, you want to wipe out an entire city for Christ's sakes!"

"I was a prisoner because I tried to make the truth known!" Bane shouts back, he looks angry now - colour re-flooding his face.  "And do you know how you put out a fire John?"

John flinches at the use of his name rather than 'Robin'.

"You don't throw water on it - no!" Bane laughs nastily, "not if you truly want to stamp it out.  You bury it in dirt and sand - you deprive it of air - just like those passengers on Flight 59-Z."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" John snaps, "that was the Markali flight...that was the flight I was on!"

Bane lets out a puff of weary air before collapsing down into the seat behind the desk.  "You were one of the survivors," he states bluntly.

"Yes," John nods.  He feels dizzy so he too sits down, although on the edge of the bed - a fair distance away from the other man with the desk in between them. 

"Akri alak marasha tunamibi eshalo gori teung nehabi," Bane says the words slowly, drawing out every syllable.

"What's that?" John asks grouchily.  His head is pounding, his body feels used and he doesn't understand what the hell point Bane is trying to make. 

"It's Ashkali for 'When you receive the signal - cut the oxygen main line." 

"W-what?" John stammers, his mind whirling with confusion. 

"They told us it was a training exercise," Bane whispers, flicking his eyes down from John's.  "That we were participating in an evacuation timing drill." 

"Y-you were military weren't you?" John gasps, leaning forwards, the throbbing pain of his bruises momentarily forgotten.  "That's why you can speak Ashkali! What about Barsad? He said he was just a gun for hire..."

"He was my brother in arms," Bane states grimly, "he served with me on many missions..." Bane pauses, "including Flight 59-Z." 

"You fucking liar!" John shouts, "don't you fucking try and manipulate me like this!"

Bane jerks his head up as if shocked by John's sudden outburst.

"It's not true," John snarls viciously - "Don't you _dare_ try to tell me what happened on that flight wasn't an accident!"

"It wasn't Robin," Bane shakes his head miserably, "your precious government ordered it.  Social cleansing - the Markali population were deemed the chaff of Colonial wheat."

"You fucking liar," John croaks again, ashamed to find he's tearing up again.  He's not sure how much more of this shit he can cope with before he actually does choose just to go out the fucking airlock.  He feels like he's been sucked into some kind of surreal nightmare that keeps tossing him in different directions like a consuming whirlpool of violence and confusion.    

"You're just a fucking prisoner," John chokes, hiccoughing on a dry sob.  "you don't know what you're talking about...you and Barsad probably learned Ashkali in the Pit!"

Bane stands up with a sudden screech of metal chair legs on the panelled and ridged floor.  John flinches as the masked man crosses over to him, pacing heavily in the same boots he'd worn to stamp down on Uri's skull.  Bane reaches out to grip John's shoulders roughly, making him cry out in shock and pain as Bane's thumb presses down on his wound.  

"The Fire rises!" Bane shouts, hot puffs on angry air bellowing from his mask and hitting John in the face.

" _Fuck your fire_!" John hisses, yelping as Bane yanks him forward so the mask is pressed hard against John's forehead. 

"You know who gave us that name Robin? It was _your_ precious government.  After we found out what we'd been tricked into doing, after we realised that Flight 59-Z had been a massacre, we sought to reveal the truth to the Colonies.  We were officially stamped with burn notices by the same military that we had devoted ourselves to, the same governmental bodies we had sworn allegiance to."  Bane grips John tighter, rocking him back and shaking him like a limp rag doll.

"I _am_ the Fire!" Bane roars, "the government hunted me down before I could expose the conspiracy, they tortured me then threw me in the Pit and left me there to rot! As for Barsad - he got away but only _just_.  He had no evidence to prove his story, no identity - so he became a ghost - a gun for hire until the government finally tracked him down and dealt him the same fate they had served to me." 

"It's not true," John half croaks, not sure if he's closer to screaming or crying.  "You're a fucking liar."

"Foolish boy!" Bane snaps, raising his arm as if to strike John.  John turns his face and scrunches his eyes tightly shut, waiting for the blow.  For the second time, however, the slap doesn't come.  Instead John reopens his eyes to find that Bane has shut his.  The large masked man is breathing heavily, his armour clad chest rising and falling in powerful crescendos.    

" _Bane_..." John whispers tentatively. 

Bane's eyes snap open and he reaches forwards to run his hand down the side of John's head, coming to rest on his wounded shoulder.  Slowly Bane thumbs the neck of John's nearly shredded shirt, still stained with blood and dust.  He pulls the snapped elastic down and over John's lacerated skin.  A deep rumble that closely resembles a growl comes from Bane's mask. 

"This needs cleaning," Bane tell John before standing up purposefully.

"No!" John barks, surprising both Bane and himself.  The last thing he wants to do right now is leave the room and go anyway near the main cabin or the communal showers. 

As if reading his mind, Bane sighs again, "the men will not touch you Robin, I swear this to you." 

"Fuck you," John snaps, not sure why he's so furious at Bane.  "You just tried to tell me my government murdered my family - do you really think I give a shit about showering right now?!"

"Your wound needs cleaning," Bane states again dully, "I am not 'asking' you Robin.  If needs be I will carry you over my shoulder to the bathrooms." 

"Is that how you get everything you want?" John snaps, "you use your size and strength to frighten the shit out of people? Kill anyone who doesn't do what you say?"

"You are angry I killed those men who attacked you?" Bane asks, raising a curious eyebrow as John huffs. 

"No.  I mean...I don't know." John shakes his head agitatedly, not sure of how he feels.

"You were angry," Bane says quietly, "you still are.  You can feel it deep within your bones.  You ask how I can bear to take the lives of so many? It is because I have seen the true face of humanity, I have seen what men become when the lights are turned off.  I have spent the last ten years falling asleep to the screams of the weak or the small."

"You're no better than them," John sniffs miserably, he's not looking at Bane but he can see the other man go stiff and tense up out of the corner of his eye. 

"Perhaps not," Bane replies quietly before moving to leave the room and closing the door behind him.          

 John tries to slow his breathing as he lies back against the sheets and attempts to find some sense in the chaos of his thoughts.  If Bane's telling the truth that means that the government has been systematically wiping out the less desirable echelons of society for god knows how long - decades perhaps?  John knew there was corruption in the cities, on Gotham especially.  It was one of those political inevitabilities that every cop had to accept if he still wanted to be on the force and make a difference to people's lives.  But this? This was more horrific than anything John could ever possibly have imagined. 

He flinches violently as the door clicks back open.  Bane enters carrying a large bowl of water and holding a rag.  "The wound still needs to be cleaned," he grunts at John, gesturing to the younger man's shoulder.  John chews his lip, flushing awkwardly at the gesture.  He had refused to go to the showers so Bane had brought soap and water to him.

Bane settles himself down by John's feet, a mirror image of their positions from the day before.  He brings the wet cloth up to John's blood-dried skin and drags it roughly across the gaping cuts.  John takes a sharp intake of breath at the sudden sting.  Rivulets of bloodied ice water trail down his skin, disappearing underneath his top and clinging to his chest.  His skin quickly goose pimples and much to his dismay - even his nipples pebble and harden.

"Still no hot water huh?" John huffs lightly, trying to pretend that his situation is completely different to the one he's actually in.  Bane flicks his eyes up with an expression of surprise, studying John's face until he seems to understand the game. 

"No," he answers softly, "still broken."

John lets out a bubble of hysterical laughter, "Wow, we really should write a strong letter of complaint when we get off this cruise ship." 

"You do that little bird," Bane replies, his eyes softening with what looks like a small smile.  He dips the damp cloth further down John's chest, dipping into the grooves of the tight muscles that John had trained so hard to gain. 

"Can't say I care much for the other passengers either," John says with a heavy swallow, he only notices he's trembling a moment later when Bane raises his other hand to lightly grip John's hip.  John stops himself before he can twist further into Bane's heated grip.  He feels confused and isn't sure what he's thinking or what his body even wants. 

"I'm still going to stop you from hurting people," John whispers, half afraid of what words his tongue might let slip if not carefully controlled. 

Bane huffs with amusement, shaking his head as he places the dirtied rag back into the bowl of used water.  "You can try Robin," he replies, standing up and walking back over to the door to take the water bowl away.

 

For the rest of the day Bane chooses to remain in the room with John.  Barsad enters a few times, once to bring John new clothes and twice to bring Bane and him food.  He speaks to Bane in their native dialect before walking over slowly to John.  Bane doesn't look up but instead stares hard at the documents on the desk, flight plans and planet schematics. 

"I hear my brother has told you about Flight 59-Z?" Barsad asks slowly, passing John over a bowl of processed and rehydrated gruel.  John nods numbly, he's fully dressed again in the new sweats that Barsad had brought him earlier.  But he still feels exposed, half wishing he were back underneath the table with Bane's legs around him. 

"Are you going to tell me it's true then?" John sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. 

"You doubt it?" Barsad looks surprised before shaking his head, "you are young..."

"I'm fucking sick of everybody telling me how young I am!" John snaps angrily.  Bane stands up, saying something quick and abrupt in his guttural language to Barsad.  The other man sighs and shrugs placatingly before turning to leave the room with one last lingering look at John. 

"You should sleep," Bane tells John after a few moments awkward silence, "you will be tired from your experiences,"

" _Experiences_?" John snorts derisively, "is that what we're calling it now?"

What's visible of Bane's face seems to twist into a grimace, "Sleep John." 

"Fuck you," John mutters, but lies back down on the bed anyway.    

 

***

 

The next day John begins to wonder if it's actually possible to change Bane's mind about his revenge mission on Gotham. 

"They ordered the deaths of your parents - your _people_!" Bane snaps when John first tries to bring the subject up.

"The Government did, yes," John concedes, fighting to push down his own white hot anger and disgust at finally having found out the truth, "but not the millions of civilians that live in the capital city - you'll just be killing someone else's parents, someone else's people.  Only now there's no orders for you to follow Bane - it's completely _your_ choice whether or not to commit mass murder." 

"You do not understand," Bane grunts, "The Pit..."

"I understand," John hisses, "The Pit must have been horr-"

"You could _never_ understand!" Bane snaps, pacing over to the desk and sitting down with a force violent enough to make John think that the chair might give way.

John stands up slowly a few minutes later and walks over to beside Bane, peering over his shoulder to see the diagram he's looking at. 

"What's that?" John frowns, it's a map he hasn't noticed before in Bane's pile of documents.  It's old and stained, covered in rips and marks.  John wonders if it's something that belongs to Bane personally.  "I don't recognize those constellations,"

"You wouldn't," Bane grunts, "it's not Colony space." 

"Huh?" John frowns, "where is it then? Why is there a star chart of it?"

"It's beyond Sector Nine," Bane states, "it's an area that my squad was sent to many years ago to explore and record data from to evaluate whether or not it  had resources deemed useful for the Colonies. 

"I'm guessing there was nothing there then?" John asks, "otherwise it would have been colonised?"

"Not exactly," Bane grunts, "I was squad leader at the time and we never handed in the report.  The mission was forgotten." 

"Why?" John questions, bending down closer to peer at the map of densely star-pocked space. 

"On our way back we were told to help out with some emergency practice drills between Markali and Gotham," Bane replies heavily.

"Flight 59-Z," John states with a sharp intake of breath as Bane nods grimly. 

"So what _was_ there?" John murmurs, reaching out to trace his finger delicately across the worn surface of the map. 

"Enough resources to power a great number of cities," Bane says, sighing as he brushes John's finger away and folds up the map.  "Luscious jungles, wide deserts, fertile earth." 

"A habitable planet?" John asks, looking surprised, such finds are rare indeed. 

"Surrounded by stars," Bane nods, "I still remember the warmth on my face from the suns in the sky." 

"Did people live there?" John asks in wonder, half suspecting Bane of making the entire story up. 

"There were natives," Bane nods, "a small civilisation untouched by outside forces, unknown to the Colonies.  Ruled by a queen..." Bane trails off as a wistful look falls over his eyes.  "I've never seen a stronger nor more beautiful woman than Talia." 

A strange stab of mystery emotion jaggedly edges through John's chest, he winces before reaching to rub the back of his neck.  He can't possibly be jealous of someone who is, in all likelihood, probably just a fantasy dreamed up by a lonely prisoner condemned to a lifetime in the Pit.  Also why would he be _jealous_? Bane....Bane is...

John's thoughts ebb away peacefully as Bane begins to speak again, "They called their main settlement Koronaniprom," he tells John, "It means 'Star City' in your language." 

John leans over Bane further to try and glimpse the hand-drawn map again but ends up putting too much weight on his injured shoulder.  He swears as his arm buckles and strong hands catch him round the waist.  Bane steadies John with ease as he lifts him up and brings him gently back down on Bane's lap.  John's face immediately flushes red at the close contact.  He still isn't sure how to feel about Bane or the new take on their situation.  John swallows hard and scans his eyes quickly around the desk for some form of distraction.  "What does that mean?" John asks in a loud yet somewhat unsteady voice.  Bane looks to where the younger man is pointing at a line of military coded script.

"You wish to learn Ashkali?" Bane frowns. 

John shrugs with a huff, "it's not like there's much else for me to do in here." 

Bane gives an amused grunt before leaning forward and running one of his own thick fingers along the word, "Terakajai," Bane states clearly, as if he were an expensive language tutor in one of Gotham's private schools.  The type that John would never have gone to. 

"It means 'Orbit Control', it's the space station that monitors all inbound and outbound ships entering and exiting a planet's atmosphere.  Specifically in this instance - Gotham's atmosphere." 

"How can you read it?" John asks, screwing up his face at the strangely printed script.  It looks angular and harsh, making it seem like an order being barked by some military general, even when it stands silently on paper.

"You train your eyes to see the word as a whole," Bane answers thoughtfully, shifting slightly so John is seated more centrally in the larger man's lap. 

"What's that word?" John asks abruptly to try and distract himself from the strange pooling heat in his belly. 

"Karackopho," Bane chuckles, "it means 'Caution', perhaps it is an area of potential danger - instability maybe or, in this case, a galactic border crossing."       

"There it is again!" John exclaims excitedly, squirming across Bane to gesture to another instance of that set of symbols.  "That's the same word right?"

Bane gives a low chuckle, "Yes, Robin, well recognized."

John smiles but it falters a moment later, "I don't really want to learn Ashkali," he states, "not if it's the language of the military, the language that was used to order the sabotage of Flight 59-Z." 

"What would you like to learn then?" Bane murmurs, moving his face closer towards the back of John's neck, so the edges of his mask settle on the notches at the top of John's exposed spine.  John shivers as Bane's warm breath trickles down his back and shoulder blades. 

"Teach me something in the language of Star City," John says suddenly, "tell me how to say 'hello'?"

"Sakri," Bane replies, the accent he employs now is light and delicate, quite a contrast from the rasping intensity of Ashkali. 

"Sakri," John repeats, beaming as Bane nods encouragingly. 

"Eltha aboola koronani tupe nalakan ziyatut," Bane half whispers.

"What does that mean?" John asks, twisting to face Bane and catching the other man's piercing grey eyes.

"It is a proverb," Bane grunts, "It means 'the stars will guide you home through the darkness'," he pauses for a moment before sighing deeply, "The entrance to the Pit was a massive circular hole, but from down below it looked small.  During the day it was a unreachable disc of mocking light.  During the night it was a pool of inky black water dotted with blinking stars.  I would stare at those stars, wondering where they would guide me to if I followed them."

"You could still try..." John whispers back, almost afraid to speak and break the silence that settles after Bane falls quiet.  "You could still follow the stars rather than revenge?"

Bane sighs sadly, bringing his hand back from the desk and dropping it down to rest on John's knee.  John tenses momentarily before relaxing beneath the warm touch.  It feels nothing like the snatching, tearing fingernails of yesterday's attack.  Slowly, almost as if it's not happening, Bane's hand begins to move, sliding further up John's leg and causing something to stir deep inside him. 

John gasps as Bane's fingers skirt the inside of his right thigh.  He shifts his weight back in surprise and finds himself pressing against an answering hardness beneath him.

"Bane?" John whispers questioningly, not sure what he even wants to ask but simply looking for reassurance. 

"Robin," Bane responds, stilling his hand.  "I will stop if you ask." 

"Stop what?" John blurts out before he has time to think and immediately kicks himself as Bane begins to chuckle.  John feels his cheeks heat up furiously, a prickling contrast to the cold of the rest of him.  He shuffles forwards, straining to get up and try to forget the entire thing ever happened when Bane's other arm snakes around his middle, pulling him back down. 

"Hush little bird," Bane gently chides, "I did not mean to mock you." 

Bane brings his other hand back up to John's neck and begins to trace swirling patterns across the skin like he's following imaginary star charts.

"Have you been touched like this before Robin?" Bane questions after John awkwardly squirms again, still not sure if he's horny or humiliated. 

"N-not like this," John answers hoarsely, arching his back as Bane's fingertips brush past a particularly sensitive spot where his neck meets his shoulder.  The movement serves to grind John's ass further into Bane, allowing John to truly feel the size of Bane's erection.  John gasps and rocks forwards, causing Bane's hands to slip down his front in order to steady him.  John moans and bites his lip so as to not let any incriminating words spill out.

"No," Bane commands, moving to grip John's jaw so his mouth falls wide and open.  "I want to hear your pleasure," Bane states firmly, leaving no room for argument. 

"W-wait," John gasps as Bane's other hand moves to John's crotch and begins to massage his swelling cock and balls through the thin fabric.  Immediately Bane stills, but he doesn't retract his hand, leaving it where it's currently gripped around the hard outline of John's obvious arousal. 

"I-" John stammers over his words.

"It's alright little Robin," Bane whispers softly in his ear, "wanting this doesn't make you like me, you could never be a monster." 

"You're not a monster," John states immediately, frowning as he twists round to face Bane.  The other man sighs as he moves to smooth out the wrinkles in John's forehead.    

"Perhaps not for tonight," he sighs, leaning his head forwards to press against John's.  Bane's hand begins to move again, his fingers encircle John's cock whilst the pad of his thumb glides upwards to tease the sensitive tip of the head. 

"Oh god Bane..." John moans, writhing backwards and trying to stop himself from bucking his hips up.  The urge to rut into Bane's strong but gentle hand is overwhelming.  As if reading his mind, Bane lifts John up a few inches before depositing him back down on Bane's lap.  John's back is now even more closely slotted against Bane's front as the larger man begins to roll John's sweat pants down.  John closes his eyes and looks away in embarrassment as his erection bobs free, hard and purpled.  The skin of his cock is pulled taut and shiny over his swollen length.

"Do not blush little Robin," Bane murmurs softly into John's ear, "you are more beautiful than you know." 

"Bane..." John sighs happily as Banes hand re-finds his flesh and begins to work its way up his shaft.  It feels different to any other sexual experience that John's had before.  A few youthful fumbles in back alleys, a couple of ill-advised and regrettable one night stands whilst in the academy.  This blows all those others out of the water.  For one, it's the first time John's been touched by another man, having denied himself the urge when he was younger out of fear and confusion.  No one has ever held him this way, John didn't even know it could feel like this as he starts to thrust up ever so slightly, gasping as Bane responds by simply gripping him tighter and speeding up the pace.  

There's still the nagging sensation of guilt in the back of John's mind that this is wrong, that Bane is a criminal, that everything is not how it should be.  But all of these thoughts wither and die as John's arousal blossoms and petals out across the surface of his tingling skin. 

Yesterday all John had felt was pure terror and horror as those men had held him down against the cold hard floor.  Today though, he sits on top of Bane, as if maintaining the comforting illusion that he is in control.  Bane's touch is firm, almost urgent, but not to the point of pinning him in positions against his will.  Most importantly, John's already seen that Bane will stop if John asks him.  John turns his face to the side of Bane's, pressing his open gasping mouth against Bane's rough cheek.

"Don't stop..." John whispers.  The only sign that Bane hears him is the possessive growl that rumbles through the mask a few second later.  Bane leans back in the chair, allowing John to go down with him, sinking further into the large muscled mass behind him.  The pressure is building behind John's balls and he knows he's not going to last much longer but he doesn't want this feeling to end, he doesn't want to have to deal with the repercussions of reality.       

"Fuck...Bane I'm close," John groans, curving his neck even further to expose his throat as he arches back into Bane's chest.  His hips stutter and cant along with Bane's twisting fingers.  Bane's thumb is still swiping over the head of John's cock on every other stroke and it feels fucking amazing. 

"Oh- oh shit...god _Bane_..." John hisses as Bane starts to relentlessly rub his slit.  "Fuck, no, no - too much," 

"You can take it Robin," Bane breathes into John's ear, causing his entire body to spasm with wracks of pleasure and mounting pressure. 

"Oh - oh shit!" John screams as thick ropes of hot white come spurt from his cock and land across the desk in incriminating stripes.  John's stomach muscles tighten to the point of pain before going completely loose, causing him to release what sounds embarrassingly like a mewling whine of contentment. 

He's not sure how long he stays sat on Bane's lap, nuzzling the top of his head under the other man's chin and nipping affectionately at the salty tender skin of Bane's throat.  He barely registers when Bane whispers something in his ear in a language that he doesn't recognize but guesses is from Star City judging by the rolling sing-song sound.  The other man picks him up, cradling John tightly in his arms, murmuring words that have no meaning as he crosses over to the bed. 

John makes a noise of protest as Bane's touch leaves him and he's covered instead by a cold feeling blanket. 

"Shh little bird," Bane soothes, a hand running down the sticky skin of John's cheek. 

"You should follow them," John murmurs sleepily, turning to catch Bane's hand in his own and refusing to let go.  Bane makes an inquisitive noise a few moments later when John shows no signs of elaborating.

"The stars," John yawns widely, without opening his eyes.  He lifts his head up from the pillow a fraction, just enough to slide Bane's hand under him and rest back down on his broad, warm palm.

"Koronani eltha ablek dethaisam," Bane replies.  John recognizes two of the words from his lesson earlier,

"Stars, you..." he echoes sleepily .

"Sleep little bird, sleep well," Bane soothes, rubbing his other hand comfortingly up and down John's side.  So John does.

 

 

But then he wakes up.

 

          

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

****

John wakes up on his front, he can tell immediately that he's hard as he shifts his hips and gasps as the head of his cock drags against the mattress.  His toes curl appreciatively and he lets out a small whine of sleepy satisfaction.  He jumps slightly when a hand strokes down his back, tracing the ridges of his spine. 

"Bane," John states before smiling sleepily up at the other man.  He likes the sound of the name on his tongue and somehow feels more settled for having the verbal reassurance of who it is lying beside him. 

"Robin," Bane replies, his voice sounds low and rasping through the mask. 

"Last night was nice," John smiles shyly before it hits him, Bane didn't get off at all.  John's eyes widen and he can see Bane's answering frown of concern. 

"Robin?"

John sits up gingerly, still feeling tender from his injuries.  "I..." he begins, chewing his lip when he realises he's not sure how to continue. 

"I understand," Bane says suddenly in an emotionless, detached tone, the larger man lifts himself up off the bed and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" John exclaims, feeling confused. 

"It is okay Robin," Bane sighs with his bare back to John.  John's eyes focus on the long pearled scar, trailing it down...

It's at this point that John realises Bane isn't wearing anything at all.  He can hear the blood pounding in his ears and almost misses Bane's next words because of it.

"We can forget it happened," Bane says softly, "If you feel it was a mistake..."

"No!" John cries, making Bane jerk round surprised.  John's mouth falls open as he is treated to a full frontal up and close view of Bane's naked body. 

"Holy shit," John gulps as his eyes fall on Bane's massive cock, currently hanging soft and yet still of a startlingly impressive size. 

"I don't regret it," John says quickly, forcing himself to look up at catch Bane's questioning eyes.  "I just realised...well...you...you didn't come at all." 

Bane's eyes immediately crinkle to show John that he's smiling.  "You need not worry about that little Robin." 

John smiles shyly back at Bane, feeling almost strange lying in the bed fully clothed.  He bites his lip as his gaze slips quickly back down and up from Bane's groin.  The other man quirks a knowing eyebrow at him as John blushes furiously. 

"Unless," Bane pauses, the sound of mirth filtering through his voice, "you _want_ to?" 

John pushes the blankets off of himself in order to show Bane his still very present erection.  "Answer enough?" he asks coyly, spreading his legs apart in the way he's imagined doing in his fantasies.  Bane reacts perfectly as if he were created to play the opposing role in John's dream, his muscles flex and his shoulders tighten as he begins to stride towards the bed and John.  Bane's cock is hanging heavier now, clearly plumping and thickening with blood.  The skin starts to stretch taut over swollen stiffness and veins. 

"Oh god..." John murmurs as his eyes widen, drinking in the sight and at the same time feeling slightly apprehensive about what Bane is going to want to do with that thing. 

Sure, in John's masturbatory fantasies he's always been bent roughly over some desk or pool table and made to take whatever he's given, but the reality of it hits him hard and fast. 

"I...I've never done this before," John garbles quickly before he loses his nerve altogether.  Bane pauses at the foot of the bed, looking up to study John's face for a moment before nodding in understanding and continuing to crawl across the mattress so he's on all fours above a fully reclined John.

"I have never seen such beauty," Bane murmurs, running the pad of his thumb down John's cheek and hooking it over his bottom lip in the same way he had done before.  The gesture sends sparks of arousal shooting down John's spine.  He swears he can even feel his hole clenching in hungry anticipation of what might be about to happen. 

"What about Queen Talia?" John asks before he can help himself.  Bane looks blankly surprised for a moment before chuckling and causing John to blush further. 

"She doesn't even come close," Bane sighs through the mask into John's ear.  John's heart flutters treacherously as he tries to scold himself, remembering he's a cop and Bane is a criminal who's intent on hurting others.

The worries dissipate, however when Bane begins to undress him and instead heightened self-consciousness takes hold as John instinctively wraps his arms around his chest only for them to be pried away again by Bane. 

"I have already seen you little bird, and I already liked what I saw," Bane states firmly before moving to pull John's sweat pants down and eventually disposing of them completely over the side of the bed.  John snorts and turns his head away, "Yeah? You've been in _prison_ ten years remember." 

Bane makes a noise of disapproval before gently turning John's face back to him, "You think beautiful men are not punished for their crimes like the rest of us Robin? You think that everyone they cast in the Pit looked like I do now?"

John feels an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy in his stomach as he thinks about the amount of 'curs' or at least lovers Bane must have had over the years.  For some reason the though makes him feel slightly panicked and he squirms in discomfort. 

"I don't want to know about _them_ ," John bites out, feeling annoyed that even this brief respite of escape from reality isn't quite as pleasurable and mindless as he'd hoped. 

Bane's chuckle brings his mind back to focus with a sharp, hurt expression.

"Who is ' _them_ '?" Bane asks teasingly, "I did not allow my body to be connected with another whilst in the prison, not in the way I now wish to connect to you." 

John's face heats up as he moves to wrap his arms around Bane's massive shoulders and back.  His fingertips find rough scar tissue as he levers himself up to place a kiss firmly in the centre of Bane's mask.  The other man jerks backwards as if he's just received an electric shock, taking John with him who yelps and clings on tighter. 

"Why did you do that Robin?" Bane asks quietly.  John frowns as he studies the other man's unreadable expression, mostly hidden by the mask.  "I thought..." John begins, "Is it not, are we not...?" John shivers as he averts his eyes from Bane again.  "Bane, am I a cur?"

Bane's grip tightens enough to be fractionally on the wrong side of painful and a low snarl emits from his throat.  "You are not a cur," Bane states, punching every word through the mask's metal grill.  "You are a man." 

John flicks his eyes back to Bane, his mouth twisting up in a wide smile, he hesitates slightly before leaning back in to whisper against Bane's ear, "I desire this," 

With a possessive growl Bane pushes John back down so that he bounces against the mattress with a surprised laugh. 

"Do you think you can take me?" Bane asks in a hungry voice as he leans down to roll his hips against John's, wringing a gasp out of the smaller man. 

"We- we need some kind of lube," John stammers, feeling scared for a moment that Bane won't understand the necessity.  However Bane simply nods and withdraws quickly from the bed, walking over to the desk and pulling something out from one of the drawers. 

"I found this hidden under one of the cot pillows," Bane tells John, drawing back towards him and revealing a large white tube of personal lubricant.  "It was unopened,"

"It's open now..." John frowns, looking at the partially used container. 

"I tried it last night," Bane states unabashedly, making John squirm and blush with the implications.  After John had fallen asleep Bane must have masturbated, probably here in the same room.  Perhaps he'd done it at the desk whilst looking at the stripes of come John had shot out only a hour or so before.   

"Was, was it okay?" John swallows nervously.

"I did not get to try it for long," Bane shrugs as John attempts not to choke on his own spit. 

 "Well, I'm sure it's fine," John announces stupidly, half wishing he could just dive back under the blankets and refuse to come out until his brain starts to co-operate with his mouth. 

Bane approaches John slowly, almost as if he's giving him plenty of time to change his mind.

John lets out a long pleasured sigh as Bane's hands grip the muscles of his calves and start to massage their way up.  The packet of lube is now dropped on the bed as Bane begins to touch every inch of John's skin, tracing concentric circles and leaving half moon circles on his sides.  After a final brush of Bane's fingers down John's front the other man sits up and reaches for the lube.  He flicks open the cap and liberally coats his fingers before reaching down to circle the fluttering opening of John's puckered and eager hole. 

John sucks in a sharp intake of breath as the tip of Bane's index finger slides inside until reaching the knuckle.  Bane's finger feels thick and heavy as it starts to pump in and out of John, opening him up and coating him with slicking lubricant.  John lets out a muffled groan as Bane shifts further between the younger man's parted legs, hooking John's ankles around his lower back. 

"Look at you..." Bane breathes quietly, the static of the mask threatening to ellipse the words themselves. 

"Bane!" John exclaims as he feels another new intrusion settling at the entrance to his ass and nudging in questioningly, almost as if seeking permission. 

"Are you okay Robin?" Bane asks tentatively, drawing his finger back as if it had never been there.  It's in this moment that John realises just how terrified Bane is of hurting him, of actually being the monster the other men think he is. 

"I'm fine," John says firmly, leaning forwards to reach down the bed and grab Bane's hand, re-lining his slicked fingers up with John's ass.  "Please, open me up," he breathes slowly as Bane grunts hungrily and presses forward.        

The intrusion feels awkward at first, like it's too much for John to take.  He arches his back up off of the bed so as to angle his hips differently, gasping as Bane's fingers slip further inside of him with the new position.  "Oh god Bane..." John murmurs as the other man adds a third and slowly but surely starts to pump them in and out of John, fucking him on Bane's relentless movements.

"Look how well you take me Robin," Bane replies hoarsely, a rumbling and appreciative groan echoes from his swallowing throat.  "So perfect,"

John blushes and squirms at the praise, allowing himself to dissolve further into the realised fantasy.  "Have you wanted to be touched like this before Robin?" Bane growls, giving an extra hard thrust and twist of his fingers.  John moans in response as precome spills eagerly out of his cock and dribbles down his shaft. 

"God, yes," he whines, clenching his eyes tightly shut to stop the sweat stinging him and making his vision blurry.  "Used..." John hisses, "used to jerk off thinking about this happening," 

Bane makes another strained noise as his other hand runs down John's body to grip his throbbing cock.  "Fuck, Bane, make me come," John moans, yelping as Bane roughly retracts his fingers with a growl and moves to flip John over onto his front.

"No," Bane half snarls in John's ear as he leans his massive weight over the trembling man beneath him.  "You will not have your release until I allow it," 

"Bane!" John chokes, " _Please_ ,"

John shivers as he hears a low chuckle behind him, "have patience little Robin." 

"Are..." John bites his lip, "are you going to come inside me now?"

"Is that an invitation?" Bane rumbles in a low, rasping voice that sends shivers of nerves and anticipation down John's legs, nearly causing him to collapse as Bane lifts him back onto all fours. 

"If you desire it, I shall enter you," Bane sighs gently into the side of John's damp and sticky neck.  The cold metal of the mask is a sharp contrast against John's heated skin.  John takes a deep breath, opening his eyes again and turning round to study the man behind him.  Bane doesn't notice John looking at him, instead the other man is blinking and slowly, almost reverently, running his fingertips down John's quivering side.  John knows every reason why he should say no, as he glances down and sees Bane's cock, thick, heavy and undeniably hard between his massive thighs.  He tries to remember the Bane in the cage, the shackled and numbered prisoner - the dangerous threat that John has now laid himself in such a vulnerable position before.  All he can remember, however, are Bane's twinkling grey eyes - the way they'd smiled at him when John brought the prisoners breakfast, or the way they'd flashed with pure hot anger when John was hurt. 

"I want you inside me," John whispers at last, instead of the shame he's expecting to experience at the words, he feels shards of arousal spearing through him, lighting up his nerve endings like fireworks that shoot towards his groin.  Ever so gently, Bane lines his cock up so it's nudging the fluttering, now gaping, entrance of John's hole.  John pushes himself back ever so slightly to indicate to Bane that he can carry on, however Bane moves forward at the same time and John lets out a loud cry as the entire head of Bane's cock disappears inside him. 

"Wait!" John shouts, panting heavily as his arms give way and he ends up propped on his elbows, trying to stop the room from spinning around him.  Behind him John can hear Bane's own rasping breaths have become louder and faster, showing that the other man is just as affected  as he is.  "Okay," John groans, wriggling his hips to try out the new position, "Oh god, okay keep going," 

Bane lifts one hand up to rub circles soothingly into the tingling skin of John's lower back.  The gesture seems to help John relax as the muscles in his ass stop clenching so tightly around Bane's giant cock and the pain gradually dulls.

"Please -" John stammers, trying to compose himself, "please go slow," 

Bane grunts his understanding as he gently lifts John back so that the small man is sat on his lap, just like they had been the day before, only this time John is half impaled on Bane's cock.  For a moment John panics that gravity and his own weight is just going to slide him straight down, sheathing Bane's dick whether he's ready for it or not.  However a second later he feels the strain of Bane's arm muscles, tightly wrapped around John's middle, supporting him and lifting him up.  John realises right now that if Bane wanted, he could take complete control of John, slamming him down and making him take it.  However, the larger man leans forward to press the mask against the side of John's head.  "I'm not going anywhere Robin," he murmurs softly, and John can't help the beaming smile that breaks across his face.

With renewed confidence John moves to lower himself further, gasping as he feels more of Bane's throbbing length slipping inside him.  He wonders if Bane can feel the beat of John's pulse the same way John can feel Bane's, deep inside his ass - making him writhe and let out small shuddered breaths.

"So perfect," Bane sighs as John lets himself cant down the last stretch so that Bane's entire length is enveloped in John's tight wet heat. 

"Bane..." John hears himself say imploringly, not quite sure what he's asking, but not trusting himself to take the lead anymore.  He feels exhausted and energized at the same time.  Like his mind is floating outside of his body and yet he still feels every single spark of arousal as the head of Bane's cock suddenly rubs against a bundle of nerves somewhere deep inside John.

"Oh - oh holy _fuck_!" John shouts, collapsing forwards onto his hands as Bane's own grip repositions itself to John's hips and he begins to piston in and out of John's ass.  John lets himself lean further down, his face turned and mashed side-on against the pillow as the entire cot rocks and strains against the ridges on the floor.  The metal frame squeaks incriminatingly in time with John's moans and Bane's heavy breaths.  John's vaguely aware that he's started shouting Bane's name as Bane finds his prostate again and begins to relentlessly abuse it. 

"Fuck Bane _please_!" John half screams as his balls tighten to the point of unbearable pain.  Suddenly Bane's hand re-grips his weeping cock and begins to jack him off to the pulse of Bane's increasingly aggressive thrusts. 

"Let go Robin," Bane growls and John isn't about to stop and wonder whether that's explicit permission or not.  He whites out as the first string of hot come spurts out from his dick, painting the mattress.  John's sure he's screaming, but at the same time the entire room seems so deafeningly silent as John's ears pound with the frantic beat of his heart.  Driven by the aftershocks and shudders of his orgasm John rears backwards and clenches his ass down on Bane's rock hard length.  Bane comes with a sudden roar, so powerful that John collapses nearly flat on the mattress, his body trembling and confused.  John groans and gasps loudly as Bane spills his seed inside of him.  Bane's come feels warm and fills him up in thick, rich bursts that show no sign of relenting. 

"Oh holy fuck Bane," John mumbles inarticulately into the spit damp pillow.  A hand runs soothingly down the back of his neck as Bane begins to slowly and carefully pull out of John, who subsequently moans at the loss.  A second later gushing rivulets of Bane's come start to run out of John's hole, coating the inside of his thighs and pooling on the bed in sticky mess. 

John's only vaguely conscious of the pad of Bane's thumb running round his sore and aching rim before gently nudging the tip inside.  John wriggles his hips and lets out a noise of protest as Bane reaches forward to squeeze his non-injured shoulder gently.

"Hush little Robin, I'm just checking you have not been torn," 

John grunts irritably, resulting in a low chuckle from Bane who ceases what he's doing and instead scoops John up into his broad arms, cradling him close and moving him out of the spreading wet patch. 

"We should put you on one of the clean beds," Bane notes wryly.

"I like this one," John mumbles, turning his face and nuzzling into Bane's chest as if trying to burrow his way closer into the other man. 

"Me too Koronani," Bane whispers, making John open his eyes and turn to stare into Bane's searching grey ones.

"Star?" John whispers in a nervous questioning voice. 

"Star," Bane agrees, his face frustratingly unreadable. 

"Stars are better than bombs," John sighs, reaching up to trace his fingers idly across Bane's mask.  The cold metal is steamed up from the other man's breath and body heat.  "The light of bombs never lasts," John grumbles sleepily, "how could you ever find your way home?" 

Bane lets out a long sigh as he settles back down on the bed, lying John down on top of him and cocooning him in his arms. 

"You think you can lead me home koronani?" Bane asks in a soft rumble, his fingers absently stroking John's skin before drawing a blanket up over the two of them. 

"Damn straight I can," John sniffs as Bane chuckles and draws him closer. 

John's world starts to dissolve around him into sleep and pleasant satisfaction.  He tries to remember why this ship is not as it should be, why something is wrong, but right now he can't - everything feels too safe, too perfect as he drifts into unconsciousness, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of Bane's chest.

 

 

 

But then he wakes up. 

               

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The roar wakes John up, he doesn't think he's ever heard something so furious before.  The sound courses through him like sudden terrifying strikes of sheet lightening.

"Bane!" John cries as he jerks up in the bed, hissing as pain and sharp aches ricochet through his body and ass.  For a second John thinks that the other prisoners have broken through into the bunk room, intent on murdering Bane and claiming John for themselves.  All John can think is that he'd rather die before that happened, but then he sees it.

The Colonies' military emblem is the Ashkali symbol for honour surrounded by a stitched ring of Colony flags and nation state symbolic weapons.  John numbly registers the archaic twisted iron bar of the colony he used to belong to when gloved hands grip tightly around his shoulders.  John jerks back to his senses as he yells and wriggles forwards.  Another roar goes up from his left and John turns to see Bane fighting off around six men just to get back to John. 

"No!" John screams as one of the soldiers draws out a stun gun, "No fuck! Don't hurt him!"

"Wait!" John hears a familiar voice shout.  "That one's a cop!"

John turns to see Commissioner Gordon standing in the doorway, his gun is raised and he's breathing heavily.  "Blake!" Gordon shouts, his face paling in shock as he takes in the scene.  That's when John realises he's butt naked, covered in dried come and bruises in bed with a giant masked prisoner who currently looks completely psychotic. 

"Bane stop fighting!" John screams as the soldier shoots Bane with another jab of electricity.  Bane lets out a pained roar, his grey eyes desperately straining to look at John who tries to struggle towards his lover. 

"Sir?!" John hears the voice behind him shout questioningly as the soldier clearly struggles to keep control of John, who's thrashing with every last ounce of his strength to get to Bane. 

"Sedate him," A loud voice commands as a military general crosses the room, pointing at John.

"He's a _cop_!" Gordon shouts furiously, "he's one of us!"

"Sedate him now, that's an order," the general barks at the soldier behind John, leaving no room for argument.  John reaches out desperately towards Bane, straining every pained muscle as he does so, he can feel fresh blood blossom from the cuts on his right shoulder.  Suddenly there's a sharp scratch on his neck, he can feel a syringe entering him before he swears violently and the world turns black and still. 

 

 

***

 

John comes to in a room that is definitely not onboard the transport ship.  The ceiling is brightly lit and the place smells strongly of disinfectant.  He moves to sit up, gasping as his wrist catches on metal cuffs, strapping him to the bed. 

"Blake?"

"Commissioner?" John croaks, twisting his head to see Gordon's anxious expression.  The other man looks like he hasn't slept in days and he's definitely lost weight. 

"Jesus fucking Christ Blake," Gordon groans, "you gave me a real fucking scare there you know," 

"Where's Bane?" John groans.

"Don't worry kid, he can't get near you," Gordon sighs miserably.  "We're in the Gotham police hospital." 

"Why am I cuffed?" John asks, feeling dread pool in the pit of his stomach, wondering if they've already diagnosed him with Stockholm Syndrome or something.

"You were having fits," Gordon explains wearily, "We had to restrain you,"

John looks down and realises that the cuffs aren't metal or military but are in fact padded medical straps.  He breathes a sigh of relief and lies his head back down.

"Blake..." Gordon says quietly, "what the hell happened onboard that ship?"

"Prisoners got out," John replies with a gulp, "Max security first then everybody else.  They killed nearly everyone who'd stayed onboard." 

"We only found one other survivor out of the crew," Gordon tells him with a regretful expression.

"Colby?" John asks anxiously, relaxing when Gordon nods.  At least the kindly old guard made it out okay.  "Has he...has he said anything about it?" John asks.

"He's told us he was kept in a cage for most of it but that the rest of you..." Gordon shifts awkwardly on his seat.  "We're sending you to a counsellor today John, before you have to deal with any police interviews or any of that nonsense." 

"Hey Commissioner?" John croaks out as Gordon stands up to leave, pushing the curtain back and moving out into the main section of the Police Medical Ward. 

"Did you know that all transport ships are fitted with remote controlled bombs?" John asks, raising himself up on the bed to gage Gordon's reaction.  The other man frowns, turning back to John, "I don't know who the hell told you that Blake but it's just not true." 

"What about the Markali disaster?" John blurts out quickly, "Flight 59-Z?"

"What are you talking about John?" Gordon questions, his thick eyebrows knitting together in a look of concern and confusion.  "The environmental systems failed, depriving the main passenger cabin of oxygen..."

"Did they?" John interrupts, "I heard -"

"From _who_ Blake?" Gordon snaps, "those madmen that held you captive? That beat you and tortured you?"

John can't remember the last time he's ever seen Gordon look so uncomfortable.  "Christ Blake don't you dare prove that asshole General Tanby right!"

"W-what?" John struggles to sit up further, wishing that someone would take the wrist straps off of him already.  Gordon relents, his posture sagging and his face turning tired and haggard again, "It's nothing Blake, really - nothing for you to worry about.  It's just some of the big shots, they're a little worried about how much time you spent in the prisoners' company after the mutiny." 

"What do you mean?" John asks, feeling his blood turn to ice. 

"When we interviewed Colby," Gordon begins with a frustrated huff, "he told us you were... _selected_...so to speak for the leader of the escaped prisoners.  That you barely spent any time away from him.  The one we found you with..."

The unsaid words of ' _naked in bed_ ' hang heavy in the air. 

"They gave us a choice," John hisses, "Be their bitch or go out of an airlock,"

"Blake I'm not judging you!" Gordon throws up his hands and takes a step backwards.  "Hell, if any cop had been in that position."

"He told me he had a bomb!" John shouts, desperate to defend himself and wipe the unsurety from his mentor's face, "he told me he was going to fly it to Gotham and target the capital city and the Government!"

"I understand John," Gordon nods, "Anyone would have believed him after what you've been through." 

 _He wasn't lying_ , John wants to shout but a small nagging voice in the back of his head makes him question himself.  Instead he swallows gingerly and asks, "What happened to the prisoners?"

"The ones that were still alive..." Gordon begins and John wonders how many others were killed apart from the ones Bane tore apart on John's behalf, "...were rounded up and have now been sent on."

"Sent on?" Panic starts to thump across John's chest. 

"To the Fortress," Gordon states, "although this time they went with a military escort and were sedated for the duration of the journey." 

"All of them?" John stutters, not sure how he's supposed to feel. 

"Blake," Gordon speaks softly, taking a step towards John.  There's a horrible expression of mingled pity, sympathy and judgement on his face that John can't stand for a single second longer.

"I don't feel so good," John says quickly, causing Gordon to reel back.

"I'll get the doctor," Gordon nods tersely, disappearing through the curtain. 

 

 

**********************************

 

 

*Two Months Later*

 

 

"John?"

"Sorry?" John looks up from where he'd been staring at his hands.  He glances around the tastefully decorated room to remind himself of where he is.  Sienna, the blonde police counsellor he'd been referred to, is staring at him with an inquisitive look on her face.  Oh god, she blatantly just asked him something, but as per usual he wasn't listening.

"I asked if you're still having nightmares?" Sienna says kindly, leaning forwards in her chair and causing her plump thighs to strain against the tightness of her pencil skirt.  John knows most guys would probably fake PTSD to get in this office for an hour but all he can think about is when the time will be up and he can go home.  He's changed apartments since the prison ship incident.  No longer living in the police barracks but instead renting somewhere smaller but more secluded and private on the east side of Gotham City.  He lives alone, obviously, and has eaten nothing but microwave meals for the last month of his recovery after being discharged from the hospital.

"Oh," John murmurs, running his hand through his hair, it's slightly longer now.  Since he's been on personal leave from the force he's been able to grow it out somewhat.  "Um, a few, not really." 

John justifies his answer by convincing himself he's not lying.  The dreams he has about Bane every night could hardly be called 'nightmares'. 

"And are you back on the ship in these episodes?" Sienna questions, glancing momentarily at her watch.  John wishes he wore a watch, there's no clock in Sienna's room so he's got no idea if there's 5 minutes left or 59. 

"Sometimes," John shrugs, "sometimes I'm on a different ship."

"Flight 59-Z?" Sienna guesses with a raised, perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Yeah," John answers roughly before clearing his throat and sitting up to reach over for his glass of water.  He's not thirsty but he wants something to hold in his hands, to stop him from playing nervously with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

"Are you still doing your breathing exercises?" Sienna asks, "the ones we agreed upon with Doctor Utahni?" 

"Yeah," John nods, in truth he hasn't found they really help, not in the same way Bane pressing his own mask against John's face did, not the gentle but distorted words of, " _Breathe little Robin, just breathe,_ "

"John," Sienna states suddenly, making him look up at her.  There's tension written across her face and she's fidgeting with the chewed end of her pen.  "I read your transfer request,"

"I've thought about it a lot," John responds quickly. 

"I know," Sienna nods, "and I can understand your reasoning, why you don't want to be a police officer anymore..."

"I've got my references sorted," John says, hoping to stop the conversation before it progresses any further and he potentially lets something incriminating slip.  "Gordon and Colby wrote ones for me two weeks ago, I just need you psych evaluation clearance now," John swallows nervously, chancing a quick look up at Sienna's narrowed and assessing blue eyes.

"You're putting a lot of pressure on me John," Sienna smiles, but she doesn't look annoyed.  "I just worry, that the environment might not be ideal." 

"I want to work," John shrugs, "I _need_ to work.  I don't want to be a cop anymore but I have experience in law enforcement...being a prison guard just makes sense.  Colby's reference is a good one, what with him being a guard and all.  We've already sent it off."

"And the Fortress have responded to you have they?" Sienna asks, straightening up in her chair. 

"Conditional job offer," John nods, "just depends on my psych eval." 

"John..." Sienna sighs, "Do you not find it curious that you want to go work with the very prisoners that took you hostage? That abused you?"

John flinches in his chair, he's worked hard not to appear compromised in any way, but he still has the nagging feeling that Sienna suspects him of harbouring something other than hatred for one of prisoner's in particular. 

"There's four thousand prisoners currently housed on the Fortress," John tells her, "only one hundred and two came from the Pit.  It's unlikely I'll ever see any of them. " 

"John," Sienna says quietly, "am I really not going to be able to convince you to make a different choice?"

John looks up at her for a moment, wondering what she's really asking.

"No," he replies firmly, before handing her the sign-off letter. 

 

 

***

 

John terminates his lease with his new landlord.  He's fined heavily for reneging on the contract so early in the tenancy but he doesn't care.  You don't really need much money when working on the Fortress, as all your housing, living costs and food are taken care of.  The men that work there mainly save up their funds for off-station trips to nearby planets.  John doesn't really plan on taking many vacations when he gets there.  He also received a large pay off from the police force on account of what had happened to him on his last mission.    

He manages to pack the entirety of his life into one measly suitcase.  It's old and battered and John remembers it as being the same one his father had brought over from Markali.  In the end it was all John had left of his family.  Seems fitting really, that it should now so neatly contain the contents of his life. 

He sits down in his bare apartment and eyes the letter pinned to the otherwise empty notice board.  It's a job offer letter from the Fortress, congratulating him on his new position as an on-station prison guard and informing him of his travel dates, all paid for by the Guards' Guild.

The clock reads 8:45 pm, his flight leaves in twelve hours exactly.  John's calculated this and he's sure it will be enough to do what he still needs to do whilst on Gotham.  He's wearing all black and there's a dark woollen beanie hat sat beside a pair of gloves on his dresser.  It's not the comfortable flight wear one might expect, but John has somewhere else to be tonight.

The tension is creeping through his bones, turning him into a coiled spring.  His shoulder never quite healed properly and it still aches as he tries to rotate and exercise the joint there.  His bones give a last crack of protest before he gives up and resorts to massaging the scarred skin.  He closes his eyes as his mind flits back to large calloused hands massaging up the soft skin of his thighs. 

John bites his lip as he feels himself start to grow hard in the jeans he's wearing.  He jolts his eyes open and looks over the glow in the dark clock on the far wall.  He's got time. 

John pops open the buttons on his fly, lying himself down on the neatly made bed and tugging the elasticated band of his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free.  He wriggles his hips to make himself more comfortable, imagines someone else gently pressing him into the mattress as they caress his scalp like he's something precious, something to be worshiped and handled with reverence and care.

John holds himself slightly on the wrong side of tight as he uses his other hand to massage his balls, dragging them up and bunching them against his cock before pressing them down and trailing his fingers to slip behind them, circling his clenching hole.  He quickly moves to suck his fingers, slicking them up ready to enter himself.  As his tongue swirls around the salty skin he tries to pretend that his two fingers are the thick index of someone else, someone large and strong, bending over him and telling him to relax as he slips into John's ass like it was fucking designed to take it. 

John pumps his fingers in and out, quicker than he would normally, but he's running on a schedule here.  He arches his back as he starts to fuck himself in earnest.  Using his other hand to pump his throbbing cock.  His own breathy moans turn him on further and so he lets himself get a little bit louder, it's not like he'll have to deal with these neighbours for much longer. 

Soon he feels the tightness drawing across his abdomen, pulling him like a taut marionette string.  He follows the urge willingly, curving his spine and folding in on himself as he pushes his fingers in further to press hard and unforgivingly against his prostate.

John bites his bottom lip to stifle a moan before remembering he can make as much noise as he likes, he lets his lips fall loose before forming then around a single word,

" _Bane_ ," 

John comes with a startled shout, his mouth falling open as he collapses back down on the bed, panting hard as trails of his come drip down his sides and lie hotly in droplet patterned sprays across his belly. 

After a quick clean up, John is out the door, pulling on his leather gloves and tucking the longer curls of his hair into the hat he'd found in an old police trunk.  It should take him exactly forty-five minutes to get to the hangar on Gotham's military airbase when the ill-fated prisoner transport ship 92-A is being stored after a government investigation that resulted in minimal findings. 

Certainly no mention of a bomb in any of the official documents. 

Certainly no mention of any oxygen lines being cut on Flight 59-Z.  John had checked, he'd spent hours of his personal leave holed up in Gotham library, trawling through official records and news reports.  It had been like re-living the disaster all over again and John hadn't found out anything he didn't already know.  Nothing to corroborate Bane and Barsad's story.  In the end he had decided to take matters further into his own hands.  He was going to break in to the most heavily guarded military base on Gotham and he was going to get some fucking answers.

He would be going to the Fortress either as prisoner or a newly appointed guard.  He didn't really give a shit which, so long as he got the answers to the questions that hadn't allowed him to sleep for the past two months.

So long as he found out whether or not Bane had been lying to him. 

 

 

***

 

John had been planning the break in for the last month and a half.  He'd been methodical and meticulous down to the very last detail, having procured all the schematics and blueprints through underground contacts in the Narrows.  He'd called in every last favour he had, figuring that whatever way it went, he wouldn't be coming back.

Getting into the complex is relatively easy for a trained cop and for someone who spent the last week memorising the military base map.  Not only that but John made sure to spend a large chunk of his money on purchasing some particularly expensive top of the range tools to aid his efforts.  The wire cutters slice through strung out metal like it was made of butter.  He also has high end night vision goggles that register nearby heat signatures and magnify sounds. 

John winces slightly as he drops down onto the tarmac on the other side of the razor wire fence.  His shoulder still twinges when he does anything over physical with his arms.  He hopes the painkiller shot he took earlier will kick in soon.  He sprints across the ground towards a cluster of dark looming buildings.  He's also been learning the timing schedule for the base's security guards and the sweeping giant flashlights.  John just manages to evade the tail end of a large light disc as it sweeps across the surroundings.  He pants, trying to re-catch his breath as he flattens himself against the back of a building before slipping up to nearly hidden door and entering the combination code he'd bribed an overworked janitor in a bar for. 

John couldn't stay in Gotham now even if he wanted to, far too many loose ends and not enough money left to seal them.  After traversing across the labyrinth of rooms and corridors inside the base, John reaches the far back hangar that he's been looking for.  He checks the numbering system painted on the wall to work out which direction he has to walk in.  It's about ten minutes before he spots it, the familiar domed shape of the transport ship, the registration clearly marked on the wings. 

"Gotcha," John hisses as pulls himself up the side of the craft and swings himself with his good arm to land on the nearest wing.  There's a slight twang of metal as his sneakers hit the flexing wing, he waits for a few moments to check that no one heard.  The ship isn't even locked, clearly the military didn't see the need when it was so securely situated inside the base.  John slides through the hatch he's just opened and drops down to land in the main cabin just in front of the entrance to the kitchen galley. 

He swallows hard as he glances up to see the darkened silent cages at the far end of the ship.  The entire vessel is eerily quiet and empty, shadows playing tricks on John's mind as he wheels round with his fists raised. 

He makes his way systematically through the ship, checking every door, every hatch and every tunnel or air shaft.  Eventually there's only one place left to investigate and that's the lower cargo hold in the very bottom belly of the ship.  John slides the hatches open, picks the locks that he's surprised to find are securely bolted and drops down into the low ceilinged room. 

"Empty," he states woodenly to himself as he turns around as slowly as possible, half expecting something to miraculously appear from the darkness.  Pinpricks of panic creep up the back of John's neck as he starts to curse himself and everything he's spent the last two months doing.

"Stupid, _stupid_ , _stupid fucking..._ " John trails off as he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the metal panelled wall in front of him.  Sure, he'd been expecting this - but part of him, a _desperate_ part of him had hoped to prove Bane right.  He curses himself again, banging his head hard against the panel and instantly regretting it as a loud hollow echo ricochets around the ship.

"Fuck," John swears, lifting his hand to try and quieten the still vibrating panel.  He draws back with a sigh before pausing, his brow furrowing as he stares at the wall in front of him.  That echo had been way too loud considering it was meant to be a solid outside shell wall that he'd just head-butted. 

John lifts his hand to start knocking gently at the panels.

"There's something behind it..." he murmurs in amazement, before drawing out crowbar and a laser cutter.

John makes short work of the wall, peeling it back piece by revealing piece.  Sure enough, there's a hollowed out compartment concealed behind it.  John steps in, realising he must be standing in the very nose of the ship.  He can't see a thing, so he fumbles for his flashlight, clicking it on and holding it up to illuminate the chamber.  John quickly realises as he looks forwards and then to his right, that the room is wider than it is long.  He takes a deep breath and turns 180 degrees to the left, shining the flashlight straight ahead and squinting into the darkness.

"Holy fucking shit," John promptly announces as the light sharply falls on what looks like a giant computer system with a myriad of wires and moulded casings.  To the untrained eye it could perhaps look like some kind of ship's navigation device or environmental controls system.  Something technological and innocuous at any rate.

To John it looks like a fucking bomb.

 

 

 

***

 

John stands in front of the mirror hanging on the inside of his closet.  He returned from the military base three hours ago and hasn't done much since getting back, apart from changing into his new guard's uniform.  The Colonies' crest sits proudly on his left breast pocket and there's the familiar motto of ' _Guarding The People_ ' embellished beside it.  John stares hard at the stitched sentence before taking a deep breath and going to grab his suitcase.  The apartment is empty and silent as he leaves, and as always - no one wishes him goodbye.  He'd said his farewell to Gordon yesterday, it had been a tightly coiled, almost awkward affair at first.  But then the Commissioner had pulled John into a hug and whispered in his ear,

"I'm proud of you,"

And that was all John needed to hear really.

He makes the short trip to where the Fortress transport shuttle will be departing.  The men getting off all look haggard and exhausted.  John wonders how long they'd been posted at the giant space station turned prison? The looks they give him all seem to be huffing, "Yeah, it's your turn now kid." 

John tries to shake off any apprehension he has and boards the craft.  His mind feels solemn and certain as the countdown begins and his body automatically strains against the straps with the G-force. 

He doesn't even look out of the window to bid Gotham goodbye.      

 

 

 

***

 

"Welcome to the Fortress kid," the chief guard smiles crookedly at John, "Colby's an old friend of mine y'know!"

John nods but doesn't smile, he's not here to make friends or to look for a promotion.  He wants to keep his head down and go unnoticed.  The Fortress is far larger than he could have anticipated, despite having studied the blueprints and station schematics - all legally and legitimately acquired due to his transfer.  John's been initially posted in the Alpha Crion sector which runs along one of the turreted spines of the station. 

"Half the place is a ghost ship," the guard tells him, "still only housing half our max capacity."  He says this wistfully, as if wishing that more people would hurry up and commit crimes.     

"More inmates are arriving from other prisons next week though aren't they?" John asks, scanning his eyes down the rows of caged cubicles the guard is leading him down.  Every so often his conversation with the guard is interrupted by a violent rattling of bars or the odd aggressive shout from the cells' inhabitants. 

"That's right," the guard, whose name is Benji, replies, "it'll be all hands on deck for arrivals day so you better familiarise yourself with the way we do things here before then." 

"Sure," John replies uninterestedly, "is there a register of current inmates anywhere?"

"Wow," Benji laughs, "keen to get started already huh?"

John makes a non-committal noise as they round a corner and pass down a presently unoccupied hallway of prison cells.

"There's no official central record yet," Benji shrugs, "it'll be happening next week after the re-count.  We've got government officials coming in to check it all over." 

"I see," John nods, feeling frustrated.

"As it is," Benji continues, seemingly oblivious to the shadowed scowl that passes over John's expression, "Each chief guard know the numbers for his individual sector.  For instance, right now you only need to concern yourself with the sector you're put on. 

"I'm on rotation though aren't I?" John asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.  'Rotation' would mean that he gets to work in a new sector every day.

"That's right," Benji replies, "after the official count I promise you it will all settle down a bit more and you'll be on a set shift schedule..."

"It's fine," John interrupts quickly, "Rotation is fine I mean, it will give me a chance to better acquaint myself with the station as a whole."

"Yeah, guess so," Benji says, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  "So you've had the initial safety briefing yeah? I mean the guys in here aren't your run of the mill petty thieves or tax evasion types..."

"Don't worry, I understand," John replies firmly.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll be alright," Benji sighs, "being an ex-cop and all." 

He stares a John for a few more awkward moments as the younger man stays silent, before nodding abruptly, "Alright then Blake, guess I'll leave you here.  Your shift starts at eight." 

 

 

***

 

The first few days of working on the Fortress are gruelling and depressing.  John's not sure what the Pit must have been like, but he can't imagine this is much better.  The only difference perhaps being that the prisoners get less freedom here, given that at night they are locked in their cells.  John's mainly been shadowing one of the guards responsible for supervising meal times.  There's a few nasty incidents, a couple of shivs gets plunged into the sides of necks, but nothing that shocks John, nothing that makes him re-think being on the Fortress. 

By the time the weekend comes, however, he's starting to get a little anxious.  He's already rotated through six different sections and hasn't seen a single Pit prisoner that he recognizes yet. 

"Delta Nira sector tonight," Oliver tells John, reading from a rusted looking clipboard.  Oliver is the supervisor that John's been working with, he's a small, nervous kind of guy.  He was probably bullied at school and now has a Napoleon complex because of it.

"Right," John sighs, holstering his taser and moving to zip up the uniform hoodie he's wearing.  The temperatures on the Fortress remind him of when the heating had been switched off onboard the transport ship from the Pit.  Supervising meal times isn't the most pleasant job but it's a good deal more pleasant than supervising 'shower time' and having some gnarly prisoner jerk off whilst staring at you. 

A few hours later and John finds himself scanning his eyes around the Delta Nira food hall.  The prisoners in this section look nastier than the ones he dealt with yesterday.  Half of these guys are missing fingers or sporting impressive looking stab wound scars. 

"You'll be alright yeah?" Oliver asks, fidgeting with his pockets nervously, "you know what to do?"

"Oliver I'll be fine, just go."  John tells his colleague.  Oliver's been called to a general meeting regarding the upcoming new arrival transfers next week.  The other guard is, in John's opinion, disgustingly over-eager and probably well on his way to a promotion and a negligible pay rise.  But hey, whatever floats your boat.  John sure as hell wouldn't want people to judge the ship he's currently sailing.

John only gets to be left on his own with a few other guards up on the gallery level for about an hour.  It's still a blessed respite however from Oliver's incessant chattering. 

John walks slowly up and down the rows of seated prisoners as they all tuck in to their food.  There's _a lot_ of prisoners in this sector, meaning that the food hall is double size of the other ones he's been working in over the last week.  He doesn't feel overly intimidated though, a couple of prisoners from the other sectors already tried to start trouble with him.  One the guys is still in sick bay with a broken arm.  It still doesn't prepare John, however, for the blade that's suddenly pressed across his throat as he moves into what he guesses must be a blind spot for the overhead guards. 

"Don't scream you little fuck," the voice growls angrily.  John tilts his head just enough to see that the prisoner is a heavily tattooed red head.  He's probably trying to make a break for it, but where the hell to? John can't help but wonder if the idiot's even thought out the logistics of his plan. 

"As soon as you try to come out from behind this column the guards will shoot us both dead," John informs the prisoner as nonchalantly as possible. 

"Think I don't know that you little shit?" the man hisses, "that's why we're going this way,"

John winces as the prisoner gives him a rough shove and starts to steer him towards an emergency exit side door that John hadn't noticed before.  John curses internally as he still feels the shiv pressed warningly against his Adam's apple.

"Don't even think about it," the prisoner snaps as John starts to tense, ready to try and twist the knife out of the other man's hands before he can sink it into John's throat.  "I'll gut you like a pig," the man rasps.  John hisses with pain as the man's arm presses hard against his injured shoulder.  Suddenly there's the sound of a scuffle behind them and the blade disappears from John's skin as if it had never been there.  John wheels round as he hears a loud crack and what sounds disturbingly like shattering bone.  He raises his taser and grits his teeth, his eyes widening as they fall on the red-headed prisoner's body.  The other man is sprawled on the floor with a clearly broken neck, his shiv lies impotently beside him.  John jerks his head up to see the guard who'd saved him, but instead of a guard, he meets piercing grey eyes and a thick metal mask. 

 

" _Bane_..." John whispers, half terrified that he's hallucinating.

 

" _Robin_ ," Bane replies in a low pooling growl.

 

 

***

 

A near battalion of prison guards are called to deal with the cleanup in the Delta Nira sector.  That's after Oliver and several others beat Bane into submission.  John wants to scream, he wants to tear his hair out, most of all - he wants to run and place himself in between their brutal blows and the large man letting out roars of rage and pain.  Instead, he stands stock still and watches the events with a cold and controlled expression.  He can't let anyone have even the slightest inclination that he knows Bane, or holds any kind of emotion for him.  

"That prisoner needs to be escorted to his cell," Benji barks, gesturing at Bane who is now bleeding heavily, loud shuddering breaths rattling through his dented mask.  "Oliver, Blake, you take him.  He should be docile enough by now, just keep your tasers in hand."

"I can do it alone," John says to Oliver quickly, as Benji walks away muttering something about paperwork. 

"Yeah?" Oliver gives John a surprised look as he moves to wipe the blood off his baton. 

"Yeah," John nods, "I've learned my way round this sector and it looks like you're probably still needed here,"

Oliver makes a thoughtful face as he looks round at the chaos.  After Bane had snapped the other prisoner's neck, all hell had broken loose in the main food hall. 

"Yeah, guess so," Oliver muses, rubbing the back of his neck, "alright Blake, you take the big fucker straight back and don't even give him an inch okay?"

John nods, not trusting himself to speak.  His pulse is thumping heavily in his ears as he turns to pad quietly back to Bane.  Hoping nobody notices and thinks to stop him, telling him it's not 'protocol' or 'standard procedure' to escort a prisoner alone. 

"Bane," John whispers as he crouches down beside the other man, "Bane - get up,"

Bane groans and shifts to turn and look at John as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Robin..." he murmurs, extending his fingers to try and touch John's face.

" _Not now_ ," John hisses, angrily batting Bane's hand away and glancing up quickly to check if anyone's looking.  Understanding crystallises in Bane's expression as he nods abruptly and heaves himself up and lets himself be duly shackled and led out of the food hall. 

"Not yet," John continues to repeat in a low voice as they walk along the dimly lit passageways and corridors.  John's not sure if he's saying it more to Bane or to himself.  He also hopes that Bane actually knows the way back to his cell because John sure as hell doesn't.

Eventually they turn a final corner into a dead-ended hallway, at the very bottom of which Bane turns left into an unlocked cell that John realises must match up with the key that Oliver had given him.  Bane says nothing as he walks straight into the cell, leaving John to deliberate for a few awkward moments before he follows Bane in and shuts the door behind them.   

 

Almost at once John finds himself slammed back against the wall, letting out a cry of shock as he feels himself lifted up off the ground, Bane's weight pressing against him threateningly.

"Why are you here Robin?" Bane growls.  His tone is harsh and terrifying and the hair on the back of John's neck rise up whilst his flesh stands to attention in rows of goose-pimples. 

"Bane..." John chokes out, his fear overtaking his senses.  Bane's previously crazed eyes seem to refocus as he lets John drop back down to the floor.

"There was a bomb," John coughs as he slides down the rest of the wall and ends up kneeling in front of Bane, who's still staring at him like he might be an imposter.  "I checked the transport ship, I broke into a military base to check."

"And you found a bomb."  Bane states dully.

"I found the bomb," John nods, "I also did research about Flight 59-Z and there's so much that doesn't add up, so many files are missing or classified..."he trails off as Bane takes a step back and sits down heavily on the single bed. 

"So you confirmed that I was not lying to you," Bane sighs almost regretfully before looking back up at John, "but you have not answered my question little bird.  Why. are. you. _here_?"

"Christ Bane..." John murmurs, for some reason he feels pathetically close to tears, his lips are trembling and his eyes feel like they're starting to sting.  "I'm here for _you_." 

John watches as Bane's own eyes widen in shock until he can't take it anymore and he burrows his face in his knees.  The next thing he knows he's being lifted up, swept off the floor and cradled tightly to Bane's rumbling chest.  A litany of calming soothing words are tumbling from Bane's mask as thick, calloused fingers caress his scalp, neck and ears. 

"I have missed you Robin," Bane murmurs hoarsely as he pushes John back up against the fall, albeit far more gently this time, and runs his hands down John's quivering sides.  "More than I thought I could bear." 

John's eyes flash open as he moans in relief at _finally_ having found Bane, he throws his head back hard against the wall, hoping the pain will prove to him that this is real.  But he finds himself crushing into soft flesh instead as Bane quickly moves to cradle the back of his skull. 

"Oh my little Robin," Bane purrs as John whimpers and reaches forward to wrap his legs around Bane's waist.  "What have you done in coming here?"

" _Bane_ ," John whines, trying to convey his urgency to the other man.  Bane seems to understand as he brings his hand down to palm at John's swelling cock through his trousers. 

"You should not be in a place like this," Bane chides, although his voice breaks slightly as John thrusts back against him.

"Neither should you," John grits, "I'm going to get you out,"

"Oh?" Bane sounds amused as he starts to pop open the buttons on John's pants and then makes quick work of his own. 

"What else do you think I'm doing here?" John grumbles, arching his back against the wall as Bane's fingers find his swollen, stiff shaft through the stretched fabric of his boxers.  John gasps as his underwear gets pulled down and something smooth and silky starts to slide alongside his eagerly thrusting cock.  He looks down to see Bane's thick, uncut cock spearing alongside his as the other man wraps his hand around both of them and starts to pump along with John's stuttering hips. 

John lets out a strangled sound, it's too hard, too dry, too perfect.  He gasps as his head falls forward onto Bane's shoulder.  Bane reaches up to pry open John's lip with the fingers of his other hand. 

"Spit," he commands John, who moans with arousal before spitting into Bane's hand, shivering with pleasure as Bane reaches down to slick the heavy slide of their cocks together.

"Shit Bane I'm gonna come," John whines, knowing that they can't afford to be long but still wanting it to last for longer regardless. 

"Me too," Bane grunts before his massive body shakes and John gasps as hot semen spills across the head of his own cock. 

"Oh fuck!" John swears as he feels himself come in response to Bane's release.  He thrusts against Bane's heaving body a few more times before sliding down the wall to let himself be enveloped in Bane's arms.  He sighs contentedly as he's pulled close and wrapped in an embrace more affectionate than he'd even fantasised about.

"You should not be here Robin," Bane sighs as he nuzzles against the top of John's head.  "What were you thinking?"

John mumbles a few curse words that he thinks approximate a reply, they make Bane chuckle at any rate.  "So tell me little bird," Bane murmurs, running his sticky fingers down the side of John's face and brushing them over John's lips so he can taste the mingled salt and come. 

"How exactly _were_ you planning on breaking out of here with me and Barsad in tow?"       

 

 

***

 

 

John swallows tightly as he watches the last of the new prisoners arrive from one of the now recently decommissioned Colony prisons.  Any minute now they'll ring the alarms to start doing the official count.  After that the Fortress will go into lockdown, no one in or out without having to go through detailed identity checks and registration.

Somewhere else on the other side of the Fortress, if everything's going as planned, Bane will be using the key that John gave him to open the double locked doors of his cell.  After that he'll employ the other key that John slipped into his pocket last night to open the door of Barsad's cell.  The two men will then make their way to the lower deck laundry rooms before entering a ventilation shaft that John has confirmed can hold their weight. 

The shaft will lead them to a side exit from one of the reserve ship hangars right below the Fortress' primary docking bay, upon which John is currently standing.

Perfectly on cue, thirty seven minutes later there is a loud cracking sound as the lights of the hangar and port switch off, plunging everyone into darkness.

"Fucking power cuts," John hears one of the guards grumble.  "Lucky it happened after the prisoners had been secured," he adds with a chortle.  John, however, only catches the first part of the sentence as he's already half way through one of the emergency hatches leading from the primary bay to the hangar below. 

The drop from the hatch to the floor is far too high for someone to attempt without a ladder.  But John lets go of the bars regardless, knowing there's someone at the bottom to catch him.

Sure enough, he finds himself bending into strong arms that cave supportively so as not to hurt him on impact.

"Hello Robin," Bane remarks with an amused tone of voice as he gently lowers John to the ground. 

"Barsad here?" John asks quickly, turning round to spot the man in question. 

"Why do I feel I'm only wanted because I used to be a pilot?" Barsad smiles wryly as he gestures for John and Bane to hurry up and board the small ship that he's just unlocked, with the combination John had procured of course.  John's bag is already waiting by the docked spacecraft.    

"Fuel?" Bane asks with a grunt as he helps hoist John and his stuff up into the cabin before clambering in himself. 

"I cut a deal with a edge-of-Colony station at the end of sector eight," John tells Bane and Barsad, "used the last of my money to do it.  We can get more gas there but after that we're on our own."

"Should still get us there," Barsad murmurs as if running through the calculations in his mind. 

"You know how to disable the trackers right?" John asks Bane anxiously.

"Robin," Bane sighs with what sounds like a smile, "I _installed_ half the trackers in the first place."

"Just get on with it big guy," John huffs, but he can't fight the building bubble of jubilant excitement in his chest.

"How long until the emergency power kicks in?" Barsad asks, turning round to raise his eyebrows questioningly at John.

"Six seconds," John says quickly, "are we spalled up?"

"We're ready to go," Barsad nods, turning back to the starcraft's controls as the ship begins to emit a high whine and then a deep rumble.

"There we go,"  Bane growls as a large strip light flicks on overhead.  "you sure you programmed the hangar doors Robin?"

"Yes," John nods firmly, he must have re-checked his software hack at least fifty times before allowing himself to join the other guards in the primary docking bay.  Suddenly the rest of the Fortress' emergency power kicks online, and sure enough the hangar doors start to fold open. 

"Passing through airlock now," Barsad shouts back as the small jet ship starts to move forwards. 

"Just a bit more," John hisses as the airlock doors close behind them.  There's just one last set left to get through before they're free and clear in open space.  " _Just a little bit more_ ," 

He closes his eyes tightly shut, squeezing Bane's hand as hard as he can before _finally_ , he hears it.  The loud series of mechanical clicks indicating that it's time to fly.  The jet shoots out from the port at phenomenal speed.  Bane gives John a quick tight embrace before clambering forwards to join Barsad in the cockpit.  John lets out a massive breath of exhaustion and emotion as he sits back against his passenger seat and watches as Bane and Barsad begin to communicate quickly in their shared military coded speech.  Both of them flicking down dials and twisting levers with the efficiency and capability only achieved through years of military training. 

"You've got the map right?" John calls out breathlessly to Bane, "how to get us past Sector Nine and out of Colony space?"

"Relax little Robin," Bane chuckles, turning round to lock his grey twinkling eyes with John's hopeful brown ones, "I know how to get us to Koronaniprom,"

John smiles sleepily as his head finally starts to stop spinning.  He reaches forward to take hold of Bane's outstretched hand once more. 

"Just follow the stars?" he asks quietly, beaming at the smiling nod he receives in reply.

 

 

***

Epilogue

 

John yawns and shifts across the large silk bed he's lying on.  He can see out of the open window from here and there's a gentle breeze coming in, cooling the day's heated air.  The city lights of Koronaniprom are twinkling outside like their glittering namesakes above them in the dark sky of space. 

John has an early start in the morning so he should probably try to sleep.  Tomorrow he's being officially and formally introduced to her royal highness Queen Talia Al Ghul.  After that they're meant to be going round to Barsad's to see the new ship design he's working on for the Star City defence force known as the _LOA_.

If Queen Talia permits it, John will be allowed to continue his work as a law enforcer here on this new planet.  He's slightly nervous, but the others have told him it won't be a problem.  Everyone in Koronaniprom is already grateful to him for all the wealth of documentation and information regarding the Colonies' military and government that he's brought with him.  He's also been trying to learn the native language, he's got a very good teacher after all.

John lies his head back down on the pillow as a strong muscular arm slides around his waist and traces swirling patterns across his abdomen.  John smiles coyly, wriggling back into the inviting warmth.  He knows he's got to sleep _soon_ , but it's hard when he's always so scared that all this might disappear.  That his new found home and happiness might evaporate like a delusional dream and he'll be all alone back in Gotham again.  John falls asleep whilst mulling these worries around his mind like a swirling cocktail of doubt.

 

 

 

But then he wakes up,

 

and Bane is always there.    

-


End file.
